


but home was a dream

by redyucca



Series: but home was a dream [1]
Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Luke will not stand for jedi-trashing, M/M, Spiritual nonsense, brief political debates, falling in love via codes of moral rectitude, made up star wars planet featuring a lot of moss, sci-fi buzzwords that mean nothing but sound cool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 39,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29343360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redyucca/pseuds/redyucca
Summary: Din takes off his helmet and learns how to put it back on.Which is, like, a metaphor.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda & Luke Skywalker, Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker
Series: but home was a dream [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2158581
Comments: 111
Kudos: 560





	1. Chapter 1

_[A heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NaUCDqWzy1k) on the run _   
_Keeps a hand on the gun_   
_You can't trust anyone_   
_…_   
_But I made it through, 'cause somebody knew_   
_I was meant for someone_

_So girl, leave your boots by the bed_   
_We ain't leaving this room_   
_'Til someone needs medical help_   
_Or the magnolias bloom_   
_It's cold in this house and I ain't going out to chop wood_   
_So cover me up and know you're enough_   
_To use me for good_   
_…_   
_But home was a dream_   
_One that I'd never seen 'til you came along_

* * *

“Master Luke?” 

“Yes, young Nika?” 

The sound of scampering feet on fallen leaves rang out in the clearing and, within a breath, Nika had planted herself in Luke’s lap, warm and sure. 

“Master Luke?” she whispered, bringing a small hand up to his face and pulling open an eyelid. 

Luke bit down on a grin but peeked down at her. Her normally bright blue skin was splattered with yellow paint. He closed his eyes again and put a hand on her back. “I hope you were sharing,” he said. 

She _humphed_ and crossed her arms, her shame and frustration sitting like a small cloud in the Force. 

“Zala should’ve asked,” she insisted. 

“That hardly explains why you are covered in paint, young one,” Luke replied. 

“If she had _asked_ , then I wouldn’t have spilled on her on accident and then she wouldn’t have—”

“Say no more,” said Luke gently, gathering her up and finally retreating out of his meditative space. She pressed her teary face to his shoulder and mumbled, “I didn’t mean to.”

Luke smiled and asked, “And where was Amabe during all this?”

Nika shrugged, pushing her lekku over her shoulder. 

Luke sighed and narrowed his focus on the dormitories just beyond the hill. Zala was a bright beat in the air, frustrated but calm, seeking comfort in Amabe, who, from what Luke could gather, was both steady and fairly amused. Satisfied, he settled Nika more comfortably on his chest and said with a small grin, “Let’s try our humming exercise, then. Perhaps there is some wisdom about paint-fights out there in the Universe.”

Nika clung to the fabric of his robe, still grumpy, but obliging. Luke strengthened his posture and breathed deeply and obviously. Nika mimicked the rhythm and soon Luke could sense their hearts beating together, matching the forest breeze, rich with emotion. The wind was a easy pathway into the Force. Everywhere Luke had found an old Jedi temple, the air itself was alive—aware and excited. On Dagobah, the air had been luminescent and sweet, if not a little haunted, clinging to his skin affectionately. On this remote moon in the Outer Rim, when the wind blew, Luke could turn his face into it and feel the joy of its very molecules racing and moving and flying. 

Nika was slowly releasing her frustration through a series of melodic hums, rumbling deep in her tiny belly. Luke let her vibrations pulse in his own mind and in the space of several warm moments, she had opened her consciousness. Luke watched her wade through the shame filtering across her actions, the new awareness of Zala’s envy and hurt, and then he asked her softly, “What will help?”

She snuffled slightly against his chest and then replied in a small voice, “I should say sorry. And let her use my paints. Even if she doesn’t ask to.”

“And then?”

She was silent. Luke opened his eyes and looked down at her. Her face, where it wasn’t mushed against his robes, was pinched in confusion. 

“You don’t know?” he asked with a teasing turn of his lips. 

She shook her head rapidly. 

“Who else was hurt by your actions, young one?” he asked. 

Nika frowned and thought it through very seriously. Luke could sense her dismissing himself, Amabe, and even the lizard that liked to hang on her windowsill at night. “Me?” she finally said. 

“Forgive yourself, Nika,” Luke confirmed, touching the tip of her nose affectionately. “Do you understand?”

She shook her head again. 

“Look inward,” he instructed, gently closing her eyes. “Are you the hurt that you caused? Or are you something more?”

She sighed under his hand and pushed up into his palm. 

“More,” she said, smiling. 

“I agree.”

Nika’s smile grew and then she leaned back and giggled. “I got paint on your clothes, Master Luke.”

“Thank you,” said Luke, plucking at his shirt, now streaked with yellow. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” said Nika, still giggling but childishly thoughtful. 

“Alright,” said Luke, standing up and letting Nika scramble onto his shoulders. “Let’s go find your poor sister.”

After the paint-sharing crisis was resolved, Amabe found him sitting above the spice-garden that evening, perched on a high stone arch, trying to re-calibrate his hand in the day’s last light. 

“You could get that looked at, you know,” she called, pushing her long dark braid out of the way as she reached for the watering-can. 

“Hmm,” Luke replied. 

She rolled her eyes at him. 

“You’re supposed to be setting a good example for us,” she continued. “We’re so young and innocent.”

“The twins are young and innocent,” Luke couldn’t help replying, tearing his attention from the fraying synthetic skin. “You are a menace.”

She appeared rather pleased with this comment. 

“I’m a teenager,” she said. “It’s my job, I think. At least, that’s what I’ve learned from the holo-net.”

Luke snorted and said, “Well, you must do what you feel is right, I suppose.”

Amabe set down the watering can and made her way up to him, climbing on the sturdy vines wrapped tightly on the pillars. When she made it to the top of the platform, where once had sat an intricate wooden-roof many millennia ago, she stood facing the fading horizon. In her sand-colored Jedi robes, her hands resting on her hips, Luke could almost see the many lights of history weaving themselves across her form, celebrating in her bright-life. 

Then she dropped down to sit next to him, slumping like the child she still truly was. The immaturity of the action sent small waves of fondness and relief through Luke’s veins. 

“When is Leia coming?” she asked. 

“Day after tomorrow,” said Luke. “Lando is stopping by, briefly, as well with some old artifacts he found in some smuggler’s den on Corellia. He said that, if you want, you could go with him for awhile. Help him take down a few more pillars of the Hutt slave trade. Take a break from training.”

“Nah,” she said, mouth flattening. “I’m not—”

She breathed deeply and the tension in the air smoothed out. 

“I’m not ready for that,” she said. “To see it all, up close… again.”

“You never have to be,” reminded Luke.

She sent him a sad smile but otherwise didn’t agree with his sentiment. 

They sat together as the sun set and it was no effort for Luke to open his mind when honeyed darkness fell. Amabe’s bright spirit was an easy weight in the Force, and Nika and Zala’s sleeping forms washed across his awareness peacefully. The abandoned moon was teeming with burning life and, if Luke let his mind wander, he could feel it’s surface meeting sunlight on the other side, could sense the effortless spin and pull on the frictionless fabric of space. It was so simple to slip into enormity, to feel stars dying and collecting, the love—the great affection— that matter has for itself. 

Then, through the haze—the multicolored flames flickering in the Force, coloring Luke’s conscious vision—something snapped, like a rope suddenly pulled too taut. 

_Find me._

The words were clear as day in Luke’s ears, accompanying a tight sort of pain, and rippling. 

“What’s that?” asked Amabe, frowning up at the sky. “Did you hear something? I thought I heard something.”

Luke swung his legs up and crossed them, falling into a meditative form. He narrowed his focus, let go of his sense of the moon and its spin, his sense of the twins and Amabe, and shuffled through the flames, ears open. 

_Find me._ The voice said again. A child’s voice, scared. Unsure. 

_Where are you._ Luke pulsed, trying to latch onto the consciousness reaching out to him. A smattering of sensations hit him but vanished within a second—he could only gather impressions: stress, a warm rock, a shining helmet and a shining orb. It was clearly a child’s mind. 

_I’m here._ The voice said, innocently. Luke rooted his body, wrapping his mind around the stone, the vines, the ground. Planted, he reached. He opened himself up to the straining mind of the child, letting their material find his. 

Warm rock, sun, blue-sky. _I am Grogu._ Shiny-man, tall, safe. _Find me._

Suddenly, the child’s mind slipped away, falling back into the dark waters of the Force. Luke was left gripping in his consciousness a silvery-orb, gleaming singularly above the deep. He gasped and slammed back into his conscious mind. Amabe was gripping his shoulder and whispering furiously, “What the frick, what the frick, what the _frick_.”

He took a moment to catch his breath and then said, “It’s okay, Amabe. I’m fine.”

“It felt like you were about to slip away!” she hissed, eyes slightly wet. “And you felt _scared_!”

Luke turned and clasped her arms firmly. “It’s okay. That fear wasn’t me. Someone was calling for help.”

Amabe blinked at him, frowning. “Like, in the Force?” 

“Yes,” said Luke, releasing her arms and pushing his sweaty hair off his forehead. “Much like you once did, actually. Only this was more—deliberate?”

“Is that what I felt?” asked Amabe. “It was like a pinch, only in my mind.”

Luke nodded. “I think there’s a Force-user who might be very close to danger.”

“Leia, I’ll have Artoo with me,” said Luke, leaning against his X-wing, trying not to meet Leia’s eyes. 

“Oh, so you don’t even plan on flying through any of it yourself,” she snapped. “That’s comforting.”

“You let _your_ droids do the flying,” muttered Luke. 

“Well I don’t go on mysterious Jedi-trips with ‘only the Force to guide me,’” said Leia, dripping with disdain. 

“The Force does guide you,” said Luke. “Whether or not you’re aware of it.”

She flicked his cheek. 

“Ouch, ok!” he protested. 

“Don’t get all mystical on me,” she said, lips curling. “Get enough of that from Obi-Wan.”

“Still visiting you, then?” smirked Luke. “You know, I’m starting to think he likes you better.”

“Of course he does,” said Leia, folding her arms. “And stop changing the subject. You’re the one who called me up here a day early, so the least you could do is explain what your plan is with just a little more detail.”

“Where’s Han? He’d be supportive.”

“Han’s a moron.”

“Leia,” said Luke, standing up straight and meeting her gaze. “Look, I know that you know how it feels when someone calls out to you in the Force”—something flinched in her steely gaze at the memory of Bespin—“and you _know_ that I know that _you_ know how that feels, so you know that _I know_ how sometimes things just feel right. And I know that you know _that_ I know what you know about these feelings so I think I’m just going to trust in what I know that _you know_ about how you yourself have followed your instincts without a lot of details, so unless you really want to seem like a giant hypocrite, let’s just move on.”

Leia looked at him for a beat and then pushed him hard up against the X-wing’s ladder. 

“Well then you should also know that while you’re off blindly-navigating through hostile space, _feelingly_ , following an unknown and unverified signal from an unknown and unverified source, I will be tracking what you do, _feelingly_ , and for every mistake you make, I will be grounding you for a month. Got it?”

Luke scooped her up into a hug, lifting her feet off the ground and squeezing as hard as he could. 

“Yeah, ok, Leia,” he said into her shoulder. 

Leaving Nika, Zala, and Amabe in Leia’s hands was more nerve-racking than it really should’ve been, considering that Leia had the full force of the New Republic at her beck and call and was more than capable of settling three young force-users before they accidentally demolished something they shouldn’t. But it had been months since he was out of any of their presences and his heart ached stupidly at the thought of the twins meditating without his guidance or Amabe finding a new connection to force-gardening without him there. 

“Lando will be here in a couple days,” said Leia. “We’ll be fine, I promise.”

Luke smiled at her but kept his grip around Nika and Zala, who were both tearfully pressing their faces into sides. 

“Alight, little ones,” said Luke, dropping twin kisses on their foreheads and letting Amabe grab their hands so he could pull away. “Be good for Master Leia. And don’t bother Amabe while she meditates.”

They nodded, mouth fully tilted into pouts. Luke knelt back down and tried for a grin. 

“I also heard that Lando might be bringing some sweets with him,” he whispered, as if it were a secret. Their eyes widened, tears forgotten, and Amabe and Leia were able to pick them up without protest. 

“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone,” he said to Amabe. “But keep up your studies and comm if you need anything. Anything at all.”

She dropped her chin briefly before lifting it, eyes bright and hopeful. 

“May the force be with you, Master,” she said. Nika and Zala repeated her, voices small but firm. 

“May the force be with you, Luke,” Leia said softly. “And don’t fuck up.”

Tracing the force-pulse of the child was a bit of a nightmare, logistically. The coordinates were constantly fluctuating and Artoo had no way of locking onto it, like he would a moving ship, so Luke was left with the task of meditating, then giving Artoo an estimate, then meditating some more, then adjusting the estimate. The image in his mind, the shiny-orb, beat like a drum the closer they got, but twice they were lead into an empty star-field, bearing the chemical-signatures of hyperspace travel. The frustration of this was compounded by the heightened fear and desperation vibrating off the signal, that hair-thin force connection, and Luke was struggling with shielding himself from these feelings while remaining open to what he needed to be in the Force. 

It was over a day’s travel before the hair-thin connection began to strengthen. 

“I swear, if they jump before we get there again,” Luke muttered, trying to shake off his impatience. 

Artoo beeped at him and the sweetness of his concern pulled Luke back into the right head-space. 

“I’ve got this,” said Luke, taking back the controls. “We’re almost there.”

The connection hummed with terror. New impressions emerged: violence, dark capes, the sounds of blasters, _danger, danger, danger_. Luke pushed the throttle, wishing there was a speed between ‘fast’ and ‘hyperspace.’ 

Two words shined clear, bright like the silver orb, and full of an intense desire. 

_Save him._

They repeated, over and over. _Save him. Save him. Save him._ Until it was just a meaningless longing. The reason behind it became clear as an old imperial Starfighter came into view. 

“This feels familiar,” said Luke to Artoo. 

Din’s heart pounded louder than the Dark Troopers at the door. He felt as if he were being squeezed, compacted, crushed with every breath. The dark-saber was heavy on his hip, screaming silently while the Troopers willed the blast-doors to bend. He glanced back to Cara then to the others. 

It was like being back under that hatch as a child, the world crashing down around him with only sheer emptiness accompany him. The memory of it was threatening to overwhelm him now. 

“You have an impressive fire protecting you,” said Gideon from the floor. “But I think we all know, after a valiant stand, everyone in this room will be dead—but me,” and he looked right at Din, dragging Din’s gaze from the slowly crumbling doors to the man sitting prim on the floor, “And the child.”

It was a merciless ache that overtook Din’s body—profound and merciless. His family, _his family_. He wanted the simplest thing, had always wanted the simplest thing, but evidently that was the most impossible thing for him to get. Grogu was weary, had already lived so long, through so much, and he was such a small creature, joyful and innocent and sincere and wild. And here was Din, dripping with the most indestructible material there was, inadequate. Failing with every second. With every beat at the door. 

What was he for, if not to protect his clan, his family? What were his arms for, if not to hold Grogu? 

He shifted back and forth on his feet, letting the dark-saber sway against his leg. He would kill Gideon before the slaughter was over. Maybe then, Grogu would be free. 

A second alarm tore through the tense air. 

“An X-wing,” said Bo-Katan as a small fighter flew by the bridge-windows. Din kept his eyes on the crumpling blast-doors but something tripped across his instincts as Grogu made the softest of sounds. 

“One X-wing?” said Cara, gruffly. “Great. We’re saved.”

“Incoming craft, identify yourself.”

Din glanced down at Gideon, whose sneer had entirely wiped away. His eyes narrowed as the X-wing pilot evidently gave no response to Bo-Katan. Grogu cooed. And then the pounding suddenly cut off, leaving a ringing silence in its wake. 

“Why did they stop?” asked Fennec, cautiously moving closer to the entrance, Cara at her back. Din watched, gun still trained on the damaged doors, as Grogu stirred, his heavy-eyelids lifting, his ears twitching. His eyes seemed focused on something beyond them all. Bo-Katan, still peering at the security footage at the terminal, whispered, disbelieving, “A Jedi?”

Din tore his eyes away from Grogu. He thought briefly of Ashoka, hoped like a sun that someone as powerful as her could be here, mind rolling into a new hopeful heat. He looked at Grogu, sight sharp as the fog of absolute pain of his childhood memories in that hatch cleared. 

Then with a couple of blaster-shots, Bo-Katan was on the ground and Gideon stood in the middle of the bridge with a blaster trained on Grogu. Din dove without thinking, taking the fire, while Fennec shouted, “Drop it!”

Gideon’s face was twisted in fear, a look of absolute fury and desperation leaking from his eyes and curved mouth. So quickly he had turned from smug to terrified. He raised the blaster to his chin but Cara was quicker, knocking him out viciously. 

Breathing out his panic, Din helped Grogu up and together they watched on the terminal as the Jedi, cloaked and elegant, mowed down the best soldiers in the galaxy. 

“Open the doors,” said Din, gathering Grogu close and making his way across the bridge. The blast doors still stood and the Jedi was making no attempt to cut through them. Din knew that they could, that their laser-sword could cut through nearly everything, yet the Jedi, hooded and powerful, waited just outside. Grogu looked up at him, some innocent part of his dark eyes pleading. 

“I said,” repeated Din, as he set Grogu on a chair. “Open the doors.”

“Are you crazy?” asked Fennec, eyes and weapon pointed true.

Din ignored her and opened them himself. 

A man walked through, dressed entirely in black, and neat, as if he hadn’t just taken out a squad of Dark Troopers single-handedly. His stride was even and his laser-sword a piercing green before it was sheathed. He seemed very like Ashoka to Din—strong. But when he lifted his hands, one gloved, to remove his helmet, Din felt his voice catch delicately in his throat. He was young, clean-shaven, his face as neat as his clothes. His eyes were clear of the battle Din had just witnessed, unaffected and steady. Like a blow, his gaze landed on Din. Despite the helmet, their eyes met. 

Din’s fingers loosened on his blaster and his spine loosened with them. For some reason, his beskar felt heavier and lighter at the same time. He could hear himself breathe. 

“Who the fuck are you?” asked Fennec. 

“Kriff, Fennec,” muttered Cara. “What a welcome."

The Jedi turned to her, unbothered by the blasters aimed at him, and said, voice rough, “Luke Skywalker.”

This apparently meant something to Cara who said bluntly, “Holy shit.” 

Luke quirked an eyebrow at her and his shoulder twitched, as if he wanted to shrug. 

“And what are you doing here, Luke Skywalker?” continued Fennec. 

“I was called,” said Luke serenely. “By the little one.” At this everyone turned their eyes on Grogu, who was peaking around the back of his chair, face curious and sweet. 

“Well,” said Luke, his voice infinitely softer as he addressed Grogu. “I have found you.”

Grogu cooed and looked up at Din. Luke smiled, just barely, and followed Grogu’s gaze. 

“And I suppose this was who you wanted me to save?” he asked, still soft but meeting Din’s eyes again. Grogu made a sound Din knew to mean ‘yes.’ 

“Are you a Jedi?” Din blurted, his face hot but body cold. 

“Of course he’s a fucking Jedi,” said Cara, strapping her weapon across her back and shoving down the muzzle of Fennec’s blaster with an eye-roll. “He’s Luke Skywalker.”

Din turned slightly to her and said blankly, “What.”

“I am,” said Luke, pulling back on Din’s attention. “A Jedi, that is.”

Din nodded and gestured to Grogu. 

“Can you teach him?” _Can you take him? Help him? Show him? Be there for him? Love—_

Luke gazed steadily at Din before saying, “Yes.” Then, gently but firmly. “He’s wants your permission.”

Din ached. 

“I will give my life to protect the child,” said Luke, tempering and calm like he could read Din’s pain. “But he will not be safe until he masters his abilities.”

Grogu reached for Din and Din now knew he could do nothing but say goodbye. 

Luke was fairly confused. It was clear that neither the Mandalorian nor Grogu wanted to separate, yet both seemed to think it was necessary. The Mandalorian in particular was rigid with some sort of obligation, a feeling of duty so gilded with affection and love that it was difficult for Luke to look right at it. Grogu’s bright mind was reeling with that same desperate sense: _savehimsavehimsavehim._

It was difficult to look directly at that, as well. It was difficult to look at Grogu, in truth, bearing such a resemblance to Yoda. 

The other women on the bridge were watching the scene of reluctant farewell between the Mandalorian and the child with guarded interest. The one who knew him, bearing the sign of the Rebellion on her cheekbone, was fidgeting with unease and quashing her sadness ruthlessly. Then, she was nothing but surprised. The Mandalorian was removing his helmet and, evidently, this was highly unexpected. She averted her gaze, even more uneasy. 

Luke felt that he should as well, considering the woman’s concern, but Grogu called out to him again: _savehimsavehimsavehim_. His small hand was resting on the man’s chin and his mind was tugging at Luke, in a way Luke could tell was unconscious, asking him for something. To witness. To protect. To fix. 

The man’s face was sweet, though utterly heartbroken and, through Grogu’s mind, a gift.

He put Grogu down, mouth flat but determined. As he stood back up, he met Luke’s eyes. The sincerity behind them, the rounded beauty, the trust—his gaze washed against Luke’s awareness like sunlight. 

Then Luke sensed it, the same desperate plea aimed his way, only now it was coming from the man, not the child: _savehimsavehimsavehim._

Oh.

Artoo rolled in, impatient, attracting the attention of Grogu. Something coiled and warm was growing within Luke, as he watched the mind’s of his droid and the child meet innocently. He smiled, unable to help it, and turned to the anguished, noble man. 

“Are you family?” he asked. The man did not seem surprised at this question. In fact, he was rather resigned. 

“We are a clan,” he said, eyes back on Grogu. “I was tasked with finding his kind.”

Luke frowned and glanced down at the child cooing at Artoo and poking at him. The sight just barely stung—he could almost _smell_ Dagobah. 

“I do not know any other of his species,” said Luke, his confusion building. “Not anymore, at least.”

The man’s face was knowing as he replied, “I meant the Jedi. He needs—he needs training. Like you said.”

“I heard the Jedi used to kidnap kids.” The woman that the Rebel had called Fennec cut in, her voice sharp. 

“Emperor Palpatine had a vested interest in spreading certain information about the Jedi,” replied Luke calmly, still looking at the Mandalorian man. “Whether or not it was true.”

This answer enraged her, but she kept a tight seal on it, betraying nothing of the reaction in her face. Certainly, no one _likes_ being accused of falling for propaganda, but Luke was too tired of old imperial attitudes, in the mouths of those who should know better, to be particularly merciful. 

“Ashoka—”

Luke went from simply confused to actually baffled. “Ashoka Tano?” he interrupted, too eager by half. 

“Yes,” said the man, shifting uncomfortably. Luke tried to pull back into detachment. “We met her. She told me, told us, how to find you. That is, another Jedi.”

“Sorry, who is Ashoka Tano?” asked the Rebel, moving closer, having dropped her unease about the Mandalorian’s bare face. Luke looked down at Grogu, who had somehow climbed on top of Artoo and was picking at one of his rotating cable ports. 

“If you found Ashoka,” said Luke. “Why did you call for me?”

“She refused to train him.”

Luke turned back to the man, who was pulsing with frustration, for all it didn't show in his manner. “Why not?”

The man crossed his arms and looked down at Grogu, his next words coming out rough and contained. “Because of his attachment to me.”

“Ah,” said Luke, now, finally, understanding. It was a fraught subject, and based on Fennec’s attitude, commonly understood (or mis-understood). Luke ached to be able to speak to Ashoka himself, but she was hidden from him—moving under the waters of the Force, secret and stalwart. 

“Will you train him?” asked the man. 

“Come with me,” said Luke in reply. 

No-one in the room was expecting this. Fennec frowned and the Rebel snorted. 

“Come with _us_ ,” Luke corrected, tamping down his embarrassment. 

“But—”

“Ashoka was right,” said Luke, tracing the tip of Grogu’s ear, who was watching the exchange with an undivided attention. “You share a deep connection the child. There are limited choices in this situation. She likely did not trust herself to make them.”

“And you can.” 

“Yes,” said Luke, with a smile. “He is young. He needs to settle. Your presence will help him.”

For a third time, a proximity alarm rang out across the bridge. 

Din was reeling. All his instincts were aflame and he couldn’t see anything through the blinding light. Luke’s open face was now facing the window, scanning the sky for the approaching ship, but Din could not stop tracing the lines of his jaw and mouth. 

Fennec’s voice cut through the storm of emotions in his mind. 

“That’ll be Fett,” she said, re-strapping her blasters and walking towards the comms. 

“What, Boba Fett?” asked Luke. His droid twittered. 

Cara and Fennec both glanced at him with narrow eyes. 

“Ye-es,” said Fennec slowly. 

Luke then did something which Din thought a little uncharacteristic of the serene Jedi style: he dropped his head back and said softly, “Shit.” 

“Oh, so you’ve met,” said Cara with a smirk. 

“Sure,” said Luke, gathering up Grogu so Artoo could zoom back out the door. “Ok, it’s now or never.” This he directed at Din. 

“I—” started Din, but he had no real thought to complete, still un-anchored. 

“Why the rush, Jedi?” Koska said, entering the fray, Bo-Katan unconscious on her back. 

“I seriously doubt Boba Fett wants to run into me anytime soon,” said Luke. 

“Why?” asked Cara, tossing Gideon unceremoniously over her shoulder. “What’d you do? Blow up a super-weapon of his?”

Curiously, this remark caused Luke to flush slightly, his eyebrows raising significantly at Cara. 

“Uh, no, not quite,” said Luke. 

Grogu cooed, tugging on Luke’s hair. 

“Well, what is it?” asked Din, stepping forward to untangle Grogu’s fingers from Luke’s yellow strands. Grogu climbed happily onto his shoulder. 

Luke looked up at him and Din really should _not_ have come so close to him with so bare a face. 

“Are you coming with us, then?” asked Luke. 

“What’s between you and Fett?” asked Din again, perhaps more suspicious than he should be considering Boba Fett's history. 

Luke’s eyes darted around the bridge, taking in their curious audience. 

“He collected a bounty on my friend for Jabba the Hutt so I orchestrated a rescue that resulted mostly in the destruction of Jabba’s inner-circle on Tatooine, and Jabba himself, and Boba Fett left to die in a Sarlacc pit.”

Cara burst out laughing. 

“That was you?” asked Fennec. 

“Well, my sister did the Hutt-slaying,” said Luke thoughtfully, running a hand through his hair. 

“Yes,” said Din. “I’ll come with you.”

The combination of un-asked for things over the past few hours, or even since the moment Din had found Grogu, was inspiring an unheard of level of resignation within him. Luke led the way back down to the hanger where he had parked his ship, stepping lightly over the absolute carnage he had apparently wrecked on his way through the Star Fighter.

“The hell, Skywalker,” said Cara, grunting under Gideon’s pathetic weight. Grogu cooed from his seat in Din’s helmet and Din hoisted the helmet up higher to block the wreck from his sight. While the others seemed varying amounts of surprised, or disapproving, Din could only feel the rightness of it all—much like fighting side by side with Ashoka had felt. The way she had moved and fought and spoke, it was ruthless and efficient and Din, in some ways, needed it. The strength to protect a family, a clan—what else was there?

“Boba is waiting in the freighter hanger,” said Fennec. “What should we say when you don’t show up?” 

Din looked down at Grogu then at Luke. 

“I’m completing my mission,” said Din.

Cara dropped Gideon on the ground roughly and clasped Din’s shoulder fondly. “You know where to find me.” She gently knocked her knuckles on his chin. The brief touch sparkled on his skin. “And nice face.”

Then she turned to Skywalker and threw up a lazy salute. “Commander,” she said in mock solemnity, with an ironic smirk. 

Luke rolled his eyes and replied, “Not anymore.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” she grinned, then she gave Grogu an affectionate squeeze, lugged Gideon back onto her shoulder, and walked off. Fennec nodded and followed after her.

Koska, still carrying Bo-Katan, turned to them. She gestured to Grogu in Din’s now useless helmet. “This is the Way. It’s the way for many.”

Din set his jaw. “Don’t.”

“We’ll be in touch.” Then she gracefully marched after the others. 

Din cleared his throat and then asked, “So where’s your ship?”

“What’s your name?” asked Luke.

Luke could tell that Din wasn’t exactly pleased with being squeezed into the back of an X-wing. Not just because his expressive face was so guileless, but because he commented, “I’m not sure you’re supposed to do this to a solo fighter.” 

Luke snorted and ruffled his hair to release some of his embarrassment.

“I’m not normally carrying six-foot warriors with me, to be honest,” said Luke. “But my friend who, well, has some experience in smuggling, he helped me carve out as much room as possible. And it’s not much of a fighter anymore, really. Took a gun out.” 

Din pulled his eyebrows together, still staring hard at Luke’s ship. 

“Ok,” said Din, in a way that rang out: _Ok, so you’re a little crazy._

Luke tried not to be too delighted by the tone. 

“Alright, let’s get going,” he said. 

Din handed his helmet with Grogu to Luke and climbed up the ladder. 

Grogu tittered: _Can I fly?_

Luke bent towards him, with his eyebrows raised. “Absolutely not.”

Grogu’s ears drooped just barely, his dark pupils widened, and sent Luke a childish collection of disappointed and affronted feelings. 

Luke tapped Grogu’s frowning mouth in a gentle admonishment. His heart thrummed with the memory of Yoda. 

As Din settled his rather impressive frame in the pseudo-backseat of Luke’s X-wing, Luke sent his helmet to him with the force, making Grogu squeal in delight. Neither Din’s face nor mind gave Luke the sense that this feat was particular impressive, another strange reaction that delighted him. 

When they were finally all settled in the X-wing, Grogu vibrating with anticipation, Artoo chattering away, Luke punched in the hyperspace coordinates. 

“So,” asked Luke, twisting around to see Grogu pressing his face against the window, eyes lit up bright with the blue of hyperspace, and Din watching him softly. “Know any good games?”

Din tilted his head, a brown curl sweeping across his forehead, and replied, “Concentrating on flying is a good one.” 

Luke felt his lips spread into a wide, involuntary grin. “I am concentrating,” he said. Artoo made the sound Luke knew to be a laugh. 

“Your droid is concentrating,” said Din, mouth curving critically. 

“Well, he’s an excellent pilot,” said Luke. “Also, don’t need a pilot in hyperspace.” 

“You didn’t set the auto-alarms,” observed Din, plucking Grogu away from a latch on the seat. “Don’t eat that.”

“I don’t need the auto alarms,” said Luke. He immediately censured himself internally for bragging. But it was no use. His blood was alight— he could sense his own alien giddiness in the fabric of the Force. 

“Because of your droid?” asked Din. His voice was even, almost monotonous, betraying nothing. His face however was enormously skeptical.

“No,” said Luke, now feeling rather uncomfortable. He had accidentally stumbled on his least favorite subject via his most. Nothing in the world was more difficult to casually talk about than his powers. 

Din considered him as he let Grogu munch on the cuff of his glove. “Because of your magic?”

Luke blinked at him, sitting so calmly in such a tight space while a menace of a creature chewed on him. 

“I—” he started. How was one meant to converse with someone so sincere? “It’s not magic."

Din rolled his eyes and looked out the window, running a steady hand up and down Grogu’s little back. In the midst of Grogu’s chewing, his eyes were starting to droop, his mouth slackening. “Ok,” he said, in that same tone, like: _Ok, crazy_. 

Luke couldn’t help but think of Han. A more cynical Han with a far more innocent Luke. 

_"Hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster at your side, kid."_

_"You don't believe in the Force, do you?"_

_"Kid, I've flown from one side of this galaxy to the other. I've seen a lot of strange stuff, but I've never seen anything to make me believe there's one all-powerful force controlling everything. There's no mystical energy field that controls my destiny. It's all a lot of simple tricks and nonsense.”_

Luke watched Din watch the blurring stars for a moment. Grogu physically fell into sleep but Din seemed to be waiting for this, because he caught him lightly without looking away from the window, and settled him neatly on his lap. Perhaps not cynical like Han. Not really. 

Scanning Din’s face, his bruised eyes and dripping mouth, Luke had a pointed and visceral urge to tell Din to sleep, like Grogu. But Din’s weariness, what Luke could sense of it, at least, was viscous and flowing, unable to be pinned down or shaped. Something in Din’s spirit was heaving—like some vacuum-sealed explosive—like a star whose first light had yet to reach the eye.

“He’ll be out for awhile,” said Luke instead, nodding to Grogu’s snoring form. “He’s exhausted.”

Din put his other hand, the one not cupping Grogu’s face, on his curled back. “He’s been through a lot,” said Din. Then he met Luke’s eyes and said, “He’s fifty years old.”

This was not entirely surprising to Luke, who knew Yoda had died well past the age of several hundred years. But some part of him hurt for such a little being, one who had been carrying so much for so long, incapable of truly responding or understanding to any of it. He thought of the old holos Lando had found for him, of younglings, small and sweet, chasing after butterflies in the Jedi gardens, tracing the stars and looking on the galaxy through the eyes of the Force. All Luke could sense in Grogu was a near constant sort of cold. Being so young, he clearly could not and did not learn to resign himself to it—every injury a new betrayal. 

Luke was tempted to relate the depth of Grogu’s love to Din, to say, _He trusts you more than anything, he associates you with warmth and food and everything good, he wants you safe more than he wants anything in the entire world, more than he wants his old teachers back, more than he wants his old Jedi-family._ But Din’s mind was reeling and the only truly coherent feeling Luke could pick up from him was a drowning gratitude. Din probably wouldn’t believe him, or believe Grogu. 

“When’s the last time you slept,” said Luke, brushing aside Din’s comment about Grogu’s age. That visceral urge from before was deeply unsatisfied with the drawn weight hanging on the corners of Din’s eyes and shoulders. He held Luke’s gaze for a breath and then asked, “Are you using your magic on me?”

“No,” said Luke, feeling that was honest if not entirely true. “And you’re avoiding the question.”

Din shrugged. “Couple days, I guess.” He went back to staring at Grogu and said, "I'm fine."

Luke decided he could push no further so he turned around in his seat and flicked on the auto-alarms. What he was about to do would require more concentration than he could spare while tracking their course with the Force. He closed his eyes and latched onto Grogu's breathing, the rise-fall-rise-fall. He opened his mind, let memories of breath dissolve in the deep of his consciousness: the sound of hard-breathing in his pilot's helmet, Leia's hitched grumbles when they had slept on the floor of Obi-Wan's old home, the swamp croaking at night, Zala's whistle when she had a stuffy nose. Everything fell back into darkness and soon Luke's focus was utterly absorbed in Grogu's slumbering mind and Din's drained one. Luke projected then, to both of them, as subtly as he could manage, as much peace as he could: wind through multicolored trees--the sound--unobtrusive--arrhythmic--kind; dappled sun, so warm it was heavy; welcoming soil, fresh.

Grogu's mind finally relinquished its desperate, unconscious hold on _savehimsavehimsavehim_ and soon his dreams disappeared into nectary-darkness. Din's mind dropped into sleep. 

Luke walked himself back into his more conscious mind with a flurry of thoughts, concerns, and sensations. He opened his eyes and turned around again. Din had set his head against the door seam. His cheeks were splashed with the glow of hyperspace. The delicate skin of his eyelids looked as soft as a flower petal. 

Luke turned back in his seat, lungs fluttering. 

"Luminous," he whispered, and then shook his head at himself. _Enough._

“We’re almost there,” said Luke. His droid beeped in agreement. 

Din dropped Grogu back into his helmet and then his helmet back into his sack. His head was still spinning from the amount of rest he had just gotten. It had been awhile since he had slept without nightmares, let alone been able to wake up naturally. It was almost a delirious experience. His eyesight felt sharp. 

“Where is it?” asked Din. There was nothing before them but un-lit space. 

“Ah,” said Luke, strangely sheepish. “Well, it’s a little hidden.”

“With magic?”

“A little of this, a little of that.”

Din stared hard at the back of Luke’s head. 

“Ok,” said Din, and, before he could stop himself, “Next time maybe answer more mysteriously.”

Luke flicked a grin over his shoulder, impish and amused. “It requires a special code to navigate to,” he explained. “Or a force-connection with someone on the surface. You won’t be able to see it in the field until we’re a little closer.”

“How do you hide a whole planet?” asked Din, incredulous and trying not to show it. 

“It’s a moon,” said Luke. 

Din wanted to whack him, a little. “Sure,” he said, feeling like at least one of them was certifiably cracked. Luke laughed and said, “Sorry. It’s not hidden, precisely. It’s just small. And has this sort of magnetic field that will disrupt a lot of tech. Including plain old vision.”

“Uh-huh.”

Grogu cooed up at him and he surrendered a hand for his amusement. 

“Your eyes can deceive you,” said Luke, in a strange and lyrically gruff voice. 

“What?”

“Just something an old Master said to me once.”

_Kriffin’ hell._

“Oh,” said Luke. “Here we are.” Emerging out the void, a golden gas giant swung into view, a yellow-green planet leashed to its mass. It was like surfacing from hyperspace, the sudden depth of color and the emotional drag of a homely place, implying that certain kind of comfort and reality only available on the actual ground. 

“It doesn’t have a name, exactly,” said Luke, gracefully diving into the gravity swell of the planet. “I mean, we’re not in Wild Space, but no one has lived here for at least a thousand or so years. The star only has a numeric identification. The Jedi Order did their best to protect it, and other places like it. Spiritual places, you know?”

Din was reluctant to admit how much he did know, how attractive such dedication to place and home and origin were to him, intrinsically. 

Luke casually pulled into the moon’s atmosphere without a bump or hitch, leaving Din to wrestle with being impressed. Then something blank slid over Luke’s features and his eyes widened. “Ok,” he said under his breath. “Hmm, ok. So.”

Grogu murmured inquisitively. 

“That would be my sister,” said Luke. “Leia.”

“The Hutt-slayer?” asked Din. 

“One of her many names, yes,” replied Luke. “She’s watching over the younglings for me. And is being a little _impatient_.”

This last part he said as though the sister in question were sitting right next to him. 

“Is she a Jedi?” 

“No,” said Luke. “Yes. It’s complicated.”

Din rolled his eyes at Grogu who smiled up at him, artless, in return. 

“Regardless,” said Luke. “She’s the only one I trust to watch the children. Only one strong enough, mostly.”

“Hutt-slayer,” said Din, again, feeling this warranted more attention. 

Luke snorted, “Let it never be forgotten.”

They dropped beneath the clouds, the X-wing swimming across a canopy of bright leaves, red, purple, and deep sea-green, piled on trees nearly as tall as the canyons on Tatooine or Nevarro. Grogu’s eyes widened at the sight. Luke dipped over a smooth hill, smoky with fog, and soon they were landing on a old-stone courtyard. The latch opened and Din was hit with a fresh honey-smell and cool, moist air. 

Luke unlocked his droid and then released the ladder, though he didn’t use it, jumping out with his cloak billowing, making no sound as he hit the earth. Din and Grogu looked briefly at each other before Din followed him. 

“Welcome to our humble moon,” said Luke, steadying Din’s back as he stepped down. Din forced himself to ignore the touch. Before he could properly orient himself, several high-pitched voices cut through the sweet air. 

“Master Luke!” a young twi-lek girl screeched, leaping unnaturally high in the air and landing hard against Luke’s chest. She was quickly joined by another. 

Luke laughed and said, “Hello, little ones. It hasn’t been that long, has it?”

The both started talking at once, whining and excited and loud. “Maybe if you bothered to keep in contact,” said a deep voice. 

Din turned and standing at the edge of the courtyard was a small, pale woman, dressed in white robes, face as hard as stone. 

“Yeah, Master Luke,” said one of the girls, the bright blue one. “You said you would comm.”

“I said I would if I could,” Luke smiled down at the pouting children in his arms, stern and reasonable. “I was rather busy. And you know I can’t comm in hyperspace.”

“Well you could try, at least,” said the other, her skin more purple than blue. Another girl raced into the courtyard, older than the children but younger than the cold woman, dressed in a flowing beige tunic. 

“Did you find them?” she asked breathlessly, running up to Luke. 

At that, everyone’s attention turned to Din and Grogu. The sunlight and breeze on Din’s bare skin were terrifying reminders of his un-masked face. Though the devastation of removing his helmet for Grogu, both times, sat on his heart like an immovable stone, forcing him into a new Way, the change sent his stomach roiling. The four new pairs of eyes falling curiously onto his face was enough to make him want to scream or throw-up. And then Luke looked at him. The pounding at the hatch in the darkness fell away.

Luke set the two girls down and gestured for Din to walk forward. “This is Din Djarin,” said Luke. “And this is Grogu. They are a Mandalorian clan. And Grogu is strong in the Force: he was the one who called for me.”

The pale woman stepped forward, mouth hard. “What happened?” she asked, concerned. 

Luke glanced at the children and then raised his eyebrows in a way the read clearly as _Later._ She nodded slightly and then fixed her gaze on Din. 

“Welcome, Din Djarin,” she said, holding out a hand. “I’m Leia.”

Her hand was small but strong, a strength matched in her dark eyes and deep voice. He unwittingly thought of granite—sparkling and solid. 

“Hutt-slayer,” said Din, stupidly. She blinked at him and then grinned, transforming her whole face into a sweet heart-shape. 

“It’s about time someone around here showed me some respect,” she said, laughing. 

Din’s inner structure was unraveling. 

“Do you think he’ll be an Acolyte?” asked Leia, blowing gently on her tea. 

Luke shook his head. After showing Din and Grogu to their quarters in the dormitories, both beyond the point of exhaustion, despite the nap on the journey, and corralling the twins into some garden-games with Amabe so they wouldn’t be a bother to the new youngling or the mysterious man in shiny armor, Leia had dragged Luke to the Sun Temple’s steps and had him talk through what he knew. She showed no surprise that Moff Gideon was still around and sent a comm to one of her many assistants to track down wherever the Rebel woman (Cara Dune, Din had relayed) decided to leave him. She was surprised Boba Fett had survived the Sarlacc, but clearly thought this was more amusing than it was concerning, despite her instant rage at the name. She was desperately curious about the three Mandalorians Luke had met, and was containing herself until she could interrogate Din. 

On the subject of Din himself, Leia was invested. 

“I don’t know,” said Luke. “He’s here because his child is. I can’t say more than that.”

Leia hummed and then said, thoughtfully, force-playing with the curls of steam dancing on her cup, “He was wearing beskar. A lot of beskar.”

“What, his armor?”

“Yes,” she said, frowning a little. “I’ve only met one Mandalorian before—one from a more liberal clan. Their armor is, well, it’s extremely important. And it shows importance.”

“Like a status symbol?” asked Luke, tilting his own cup so the setting sun reflected on the surface of the tea. 

“Not quite,” said Leia. “From what I’ve read, the status is an in-or-out sort of thing. Within that, hierarchies are more subtle. It’s almost religious, but less spiritual than, well, the Jedi”—she tossed a small smile his way—“but more cultural.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s more like they follow a creed, a set of customs,” she said. 

“Sounds spiritual to me,” said Luke. “Maybe you mean they’re less mystical.”

Leia nodded and sipped her tea, still thinking. “I do know that they are rather legendary enemies of the Jedi,” she said. “They were colonizers for a big stint of their history, which the Jedi mostly disagreed with.”

“And how relevant is that now?” asked Luke, somewhat petulantly. 

“Probably more relevant than you want it to be,” said Leia. “But what I was trying to say is that his armor is new. And his clan is just him and that baby. He’s unusual.”

Luke closed his eyes as the warm beams of sunset hit the stone around them and lit up his skin like a kyber-crystal. “His clan is just him and that baby,” repeated Luke softly. “But he was ready to give Grogu up. For Grogu’s sake.”

Leia caught his arm and Luke opened his eyes and leaned against her shoulder. 

“I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone so un-selfish,” continued Luke, confused and casual. 

Leia squeezed his hand and said, “I have.”

Din woke up warm. Not hot, not cold. The soft pallet under his back, made mostly of some sort of moss, held him firmly. The air shimmered on his eyelids, golden and weighty. It was a languorous journey into full awareness. 

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Grogu, sleeping peacefully on Din’s pallet, his entire little body curled up on the pillow next to Din’s. Luke had provided an elevated crib of sorts for Grogu, and that’s where Din had set Grogu yesterday evening. Yet here he was, lightly snoring beside Din’s face. The morning light lit up his ears, turning them pink, making his scruffy hairs shine. He was still deep in sleep, and the sight made a tension in Din’s chest dissolve. He gave himself permission to look away. 

He took stock of his body, sore and aching, but rested—a more alien sensation than was probably healthy. Stretching, he took note of every place he had been hit and thrown and downed in the past 48 hours. He tossed off his blanket and let the sun drip onto him.

The room they were in was made mostly of stone, sealed and protected by colorful moss and lichen, in reds and greens. A vine had snuck in through the window, it’s white petals resting on the sill, lounging in the sunlight. There was a shelf in the corner, full of scrolls of and books, and an intricate design carved into the mantel of the walls. Din got up and glanced down at his armor, piled neatly by his pallet. His helmet sat on top, like a challenge. He shook his head and pulled on his shirt, tucking it in and strapping on his belt, which still had Grogu’s silver ball tucked inside its pouch. He hesitated, and then strapped the dark-saber into his boot, along with a short blaster. He ran a hand over his face, wondering how he looked, and deciding he truly didn’t care. 

He crouched down next to Grogu and ran a finger across one of his ears. Grogu stirred, and cooed, eyes still closed, so Din laid his palm more firmly on the top of his head. Grogu pressed into it and Din said softly, “I’m just going to look around. I’ll be back.” Grogu cooed again and then fell back asleep. 

Stepping into the hallway, Din was struck with how little he had been paying attention yesterday, when Luke was leading him to his quarters. The hall was open-air, smoothed down stones, flattened into each other, somehow both perfectly shaded and lit up with sunlight. He made his way in what he hoped was the right direction, down a couple flights of stairs and into a courtyard, whose boundaries seemed to be defined by the enormous tree-trunks of the forest and their free-air roots. Past a grove of white-blooming trees, Din spotted a garden on a hill, and beyond that a sweeping field. Opposite, the courtyard curved upward into a hillside. 

“Good morning!” a young voice shouted from behind him. 

Din turned and saw the girl from yesterday, wearing the same clean tunic, her long black hair falling in a braid over her shoulder. Her face was bright and brown and curious and Din fought the urge to duck behind a bush. 

“We were just finishing making breakfast in the kitchen,” she said, strolling closer. Her feet were bare, but she stepped lightly and unthinkingly over the ground. “Luke sent me to see if you two were awake.”

“Just me,” said Din. “The kid is still sleeping.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I bet. When I first came here, I slept like a whole week.”

Something dark passed briefly over her features, but her smile stayed strong. 

“Anyway, come on,” she said, nodding behind her. “Kitchen is this way. I hope you like spicy food, because Luke doesn’t know how to make anything else.”

The ‘kitchen’ evidently was another open air courtyard, with tangled tree-branches for a roof. There were several ovens lined up on the perimeter, built into smoothed down stone tables, and a series of lined up wooden tables set near the center. Most of these were covered in books and documents. A circular one was piled high with a colorful assortment of fruits and vegetables, steam rising from the plates in great, aromatic puffs. Luke stood above a large book, practically glowing in the morning light. He had changed into a dark-sandy tunic, similar to the girl’s, with a wide-brown belt, his laser-sword hanging off it. 

“Master Luke,” said the girl, crossing her arms as they approached. “You _just_ said it was time to eat.”

“Hmmm,” he replied, still staring at a page in his book. “What?”

“Master,” she repeated. He looked up, as if to scold, but he caught sight of Din and a wide smile lit up his face. 

“Din,” he said, warmly. “Did you sleep well?”

Din slowly nodded, warring sensations of discomfort and safety making it difficult to know what to feel under Luke’s gaze. 

“Well, I hope you’re hungry,” said Luke, pushing a hand into his hair. “Amabe and I made, well, a lot.”

“He thought you hadn’t eaten in a couple days,” said Amabe, plopping down opposite Luke and closing his book. “Seemed pretty convinced that you were on the edge of starvation.”

She ran her eyes up and down his form, and then said ironically, “Doesn’t seem very likely, by the look of you.”

“Alright,” said Luke, rolling his eyes and avoiding Din’s. “That’s enough out of you, padawan.”

She grinned up at him and gave a sloppy mock bow. 

“Kriff, Luke,” said Leia, walking in, a young twi’lek holding each hand, passing the table piled high with steaming vegetables and colorful rice. “Does the baby eat more than I thought?”

“Ok, ok,” said Luke, scooping up one of the girls who was still yawning, and dropping her into a higher seat so she could reach the table, while Leia helped the other. “Where is Grogu anyway?”

“Still sleeping,” said Din, watching Luke’s hands tie off the girl’s belt where it was loose. 

A blank look slid over Luke’s face, as if he were suddenly concentrating deeply, and then his smile returned. “Yes, he’s pretty wiped out. Best to let him rest for a few more hours.”

“Sit,” said Leia, nudging Din with her elbow. She took a seat between the little girls and the older girl swung into the chair by what looked like an enormous pitcher of caf. Luke plucked the pitcher up under her frown and deposited it in from of himself. 

“No caf for children,” he said, dropping into a seat. He raised his eyebrows at Din and gestured to the empty seat next to him. Din sat and Luke held out a cup to him, stern gaze still on the girl. 

“I’m fifteen,” she said. 

“Exactly,” said Leia, piling her plate high. 

“Weren’t you a senator at fifteen?” said the girl. 

Luke snorted as he floated two plates full of green vegetables to the twi-lek girls, both now finally starting to wake-up. 

“Yes, well,” said Leia. “That was during the Empire, so it doesn’t really count.”

“That doesn’t make _any_ sense.”

“Leia doesn’t have to make sense, Amabe,” Luke said. “It’s part of her charm.”

Leia flicked a piece of orange fruit at his face and he caught it between his teeth. 

“Were you allowed to drink caf at fifteen?” asked Amabe, turning to Din. Din wondered if there had been any rules in the Watch about that sort of thing. He had never had a taste for caf, but they were rather strict about diet and training so likely if he had tried to drink some, he would’ve been prevented. 

“No,” he said simply. She pouted at him. 

“Here,” said Luke, holding a plate of vegetables and bowl of steaming rice to him. Din raised his eyes to meet his, clear and honest. “Sorry there’s no meat, the environment here doesn’t really sustain livestock—but the green roots are sort of meaty—and the purple-herb goes really well with the beans.”

Din took the food with a quiet, “Thank you.” He hadn’t felt this caught off guard since Sorgan. “Grogu will be disappointed, though.”

Luke tilted his head, questioning, “Why’s that?”

“He’s a predator.”

Luke grinned down at his own plate, biting his lip, clearly struggling not to laugh. “I can imagine,” he said. “I knew one other of his species and—”

“Master Luke!” shouted the purple twi’lek girl. “Can we go down to the river today?”

“Zala,” sighed Luke. “You know we have to wait a week after it rains.”

“But—”

It was a minor struggle to follow the lively breakfast after that. The younger ones had fully woken up and were soon chattering away about so many things at once, Luke, Leia, and Amabe were reduced to simple noises of interest or affirmation. At one point, they demanded they be able to drink caf, too, and Leia distracted them with a game about plants, while filling their cups with juice. Din focused on eating. Amabe may have been teasing Luke earlier, but it was true that he could barely remember the last time he ate something—let alone something actually nutritious. Luke was right, the green root was meaty. It fell apart in his mouth and whatever combination of spices and herbs Luke had cooked it in made it all the more appetizing. His mouth was left with a stinging feeling, much like with the food he grew up eating, but the fresh fruit washed it down. And despite Amabe and Leia’s doubt, the mass of food filled them all and then disappeared, leaving Luke looking rather smug. 

Then suddenly, Luke stood and said, “Ok, my young padawans, time for some meditative exercise.”

Amabe rolled her eyes while the girls protested. 

“He means ‘washing the dishes,’” whispered Amabe loudly to Din. 

“That’s ok, Luke,” said Leia. “Leave it with Din and me. They missed your training for a couple days already.”

“Yeah, Master Luke!” said the blue twi’lek, Nika. “I learned a new trick!”

“No, _I_ learned a new trick and showed you,” said the other, Zala. 

Luke smiled at them and helped them down from their seats. 

“Alright, well let’s start our day in the Green Temple, this morning,” he said. “Go help Amabe set up.”

They scampered off, eager to be relieved from duty, and Luke turned to Din. 

“Come find me when Grogu wakes up,” he said, voice soft. “And—”

He paused, flicking his gaze beyond Din’s shoulder. 

“Well, make yourself at home,” he said. Then he nodded and gracefully followed after the children. 

“What an awkward kid,” remarked Leia, watching him go. 

Leia led him down a flight of stairs and into a large fresher-room, lit by tall windows facing a stream, with wide laundry tubs and machines, clothes-lines, and dish-washing sinks. The walls and ceiling were covered in hanging plants and vines, an interesting collection of sweet and spicy smells emerging off the blooms. They tossed the leftover food into a tumbling bin just outside the door, full of rich, dark soil, and piled the dishes in the sink. 

“So,” said Leia, taking a plate from him to dry. “Where are you from?”

Din focused on the shimmer of bubbles reflecting the sunlight filtering in. “Nowhere, really,” he said, pushing down the old images of Aq Vetina in his chest. 

“We’re all from somewhere,” she said, lightly. “Are you from Mandalore? Or one of their colonies?”

Din shook his head. “I was a foundling,” he said. “Never been to Mandalore.”

Leia said nothing for a few beats. The sound of the stream just outside trickled in with the breeze. 

“Did any of your clan survive the Purge?” she asked. 

Din looked down at her, taken aback. No one had yet to bring up the Great Purge to him so directly. Perhaps this was her version of kindness: bluntness. 

“Not that I’m aware,” he said. “Not the clan I grew up with, at least. Only one survived on Nevarro.”

“That is a heavy weight to carry,” she said, steady. Din could only nod and continue washing. When she spoke again, she was contained and nearly toneless. 

“I’m from Alderaan.” 

Din stopped scrubbing for a moment, hyper-aware of the feel of the rag in his hand. Then he surreptitiously cleared his throat and replied, “I know someone from Alderaan.”

Leia’s eyes widened just slightly, sad round orbs, and she asked in her deep voice, “Do you?”

“An ex-Rebellion solider.”

Leia huffed, amused. “Aren’t we all.”

“I’m not.”

“I mean,” she said, brows pinching slightly. “It feels like everyone I meet is a veteran, whether they fought for the Rebellion or not.”

Din thought of Omera, of Bo-Katan, Greef, and Kuiil. “They’re still fighting,” he said. “Even without the Rebel Alliance.”

She sighed at that, dropping her chin a little. “I know. No one in the Core seems to care either,” she said. “The Senate is half Rebel-veterans who are still angry and half imperial politicians who are still scared witless, and no one seems prepared to ask how the Empire happened in the first place. _All_ the New Republic has as an asset is an army, really. Palpatine destroyed so much of the Old Republic’s infrastructure and we’re having to build a citizen bureaucracy from the ground up.”

He picked up his own towel to start drying, feeling very out of his depth. 

“And, on top of it all, I don’t think anyone _realized_ how much the Old Republic relied on the Jedi Order,” she said. “Before their mass slaughter, there were thousands of Jedi, throughout the galaxy. And now all we’re left with are these ancient spiritual places”— she waved her hand around, gesturing to the walls and the stone colonnade, overtaken by the trees, outside the window—“and to ask Luke to just, _be_ the whole Order, to take care of it himself…”

She put on a wry, sad smile and met Din’s gaze. “He’s done it before, I suppose. I just don’t want him to do it again.”

Din had no clue what to say to any of this. He didn’t know what Luke had done, what the Jedi had been called to do before. He was a child when the Republic fell, living in the Outer Rim, untouched by the Clone Wars until the very end. He had hardly strayed past the Inner Rim, spent more time on the edges of Wild Space than he wanted, and he barely felt the change from Empire to New Republic. The pressure of the dark-saber in his boot, against his calf, grew. 

“It takes more than just saying things, I guess,” he finally said, feeling through his own frustration with Bo-Katan. “Building a people.” 

Leia put down the final plate and turned to him, hands on her hips, radiating a little as the sun hit her white tunic and sleeves. “You’d be surprised by how few people are capable of admitting that. Even the ones trying to govern.”

“Not very surprised,” replied Din with a barely audible snort, thinking of Gideon’s mocking while Din tried to hand-off the dark-saber.

“Anyway,” she said, nodding her head outside. “Let’s talk about Moff Gideon.”

Luke gave the padawans a couple hours to work through their assigned forms, promising a trip down to the waterfall later if they did well. Their force-bonds with him were bright with energy and focus, freely tapping into his own strength as a guide while they worked. He found Leia at the southern colonnade, speaking earnestly with Din. 

“It matches up with reports I’ve been getting from the Outer Rim,” she was saying as Luke walked up. “Mass kidnappings—whole groups of people just suddenly disappearing. When we pushed the imperial powers out of the Core, they didn’t so much disperse as re-group.” 

“You’ll get premature wrinkles if you keep frowning like that,” said Luke. Leia flipped him off, focusing internally. Din looked up at him with careful eyes. His neck arched, exposing a long length of skin and a sharp jaw, his face cast into dappled sun. He was astoundingly physical. 

“I wonder if the Hutts are going for a power grab while we’re distracted,” said Leia, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Slavery is outlawed again—we won’t just look away like the Empire did.”

“I don’t think so,” said Din. “When I was on Tatooine, everyone seemed mostly free of their hold. Empire and Hutt.”

“Well, if _Tatooine_ of all places has managed to push the slavers out,” said Luke, gathering up his aggressive bitterness and releasing it in a deep exhale. 

“Hmm,” said Leia. “So the ex-imperials are targeting force-users—”

“Grogu isn’t just a force-user, though,” said Luke. “He’s strong. He’s rooted in the Force. In a way that Ben was. And Yoda.”

“They were doing experiments on him,” said Din gingerly. His mind was lit up with a hard rage, pointed narrowly at one subject. 

“Who?” asked Leia. 

Din tugged a little on his sleeve-cuffs and said, “The one who had a bounty on him. An ex-empire client. He was using a doctor to extract blood from Grogu.”

Leia and Luke exchanged a look and Leia took the plunge. “How did you find Grogu?”

Din sighed and met Luke’s gaze for a moment. “I collected the bounty on him. The client told me he was fifty years old, but when I found him…” he shook his head slightly. “Before I could bring him in, we were stuck on a desert planet. Jawas had torn apart my ship, and while I was trying to get everything back, we were attacked by a Mudhorn.”

Leia was confused at this name and Luke sent her a mental image of the creature. 

“Only, the kid saved us,” continued Din. “Made the thing— float.” He held out his hand, mimicking the posture of force-wielding, something he clearly had learned from Grogu. “I had never seen anything like it. When I brought him in, I asked what they were going to do with him. They didn’t tell me. So I broke into their encampment and stole the kid back. They’ve been hunting him ever since.”

There was silence for a moment and then Leia whistled lowly. 

“Leia,” muttered Luke, chiding in their bond.

“What?” she said. “That’s an impressive story. And a pretty successful rescue attempt, it seems.”

“Leia, how many times do I have to remind you that we actually got you off that Death Star?” said Luke, rolling his eyes. 

“ _I_ got you off that Death Star,” she replied primly. 

“Death Star?” Din asked. “What?”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Leia, waving her hand. “Can I ask: you said you took a crew to rescue Grogu—the second time, I guess—who were they? They weren’t your clan?”

Din shook his head. “No, they were just some people I knew. Cara Dune is a friend and Fennec is an associate of Boba Fett who helped track down the StarFighter.”

“Boba Fett.” Leia was running through a handful of violent curse-words silently, so Luke felt it was appropriate to remind her that Han was alive and well. She threw him a dirty look. 

“Not a friend of mine,” said Din, carefully, and Luke stifled his own laughter. “Just an ally.”

“Why were they helping you?” asked Luke. “The Mandalorians, I mean. Is that one of your customs?”

Something in Din’s mind flinched at the word ‘customs,’ but Luke couldn’t tell why. 

“Moff Gideon had a weapon that Bo-Katan wanted,” Din explained. “She agreed to help in order to retrieve it.”

“What weapon?” asked Leia. 

Din was exuding pure discomfort. “A dark-saber, she called it.”

Leia looked up at Luke and very obviously mouthed: _What?_ Then Din sighed and reached into his boot, pulling out a sword hilt. 

“This,” he said. 

Luke and Leia were silent. Then Luke brought a hand up to his own face to press away the tension building between his eyes, laughing disbelieving into his hand. “Why the _kriff_ do you have a light-saber?”

Unfortunately, through his bewilderment, he had accidentally let his shields drop and as soon as he asked the question a pair of voices were shrieking his mind: _lightsaberlightsaberlightsaber!_

“Ah,” he said, massaging his ear before Din could answer. “We’re about to have company.”

Leia herself was rubbing her left temple. “Are we going to have to have another talk about abusing the mental-bonds?” she grumbled. 

“Oh, leave them alone, they’re just excit—”

“Master Luke! Master Luke!”

Zala tumbled down the grassy hillside first, Nika tripping at her heels. “Does Mister Din have a light-saber?” shouted Nika, racing up to Din and putting her small hands on his right thigh, peering up at him. Zala gasped, hands covering her mouth, eyes fixed on the hilt in Din’s hand. Din shot Luke a panicked look but before Luke could do much else, Zala and Nika were both leaning over his lap to stare, mesmerized, at the saber he was holding just out of reach. 

“Oh my Force,” breathed Zala dramatically. “Look at it. What color is it, Mister Din? Is it purple?”

“Mister Din, are you a Jedi?” asked Nika. Din, to his credit, did not seem overwhelmed by their curiosity or their apparent disregard for his personal space. His mind was stuttering with fear over the thought of either of them managing to touch such a dangerous weapon, so Luke, endeared, stepped forward and opened his hand. 

“May I see it?” he asked. 

“I want to hold it!” shouted Nika, reaching just as Din held out the saber to Luke. 

Luke quickly summoned it before she could make contact and said sternly, “Absolutely not.”

“But Lu- _uuke_ ,” she whined. “I lifted a whole tree yesterday. I’m ready.”

“Sorry, kid,” said Leia, hoisting Nika into her lap. “But you lifted a stick. Let’s try to be honest about our progress, hm?”

“I’ve told you before, Kiki, you won’t be ready until you can build one yourself,” said Luke, tempering the words with a flow of affection down their force-bond. She grumbled into Leia’s shoulder, appeased but putting on a show, while Din seemed to be doing his best to flatten down an amused grin.

“What color is it, Master Luke?” said Zala, jumping up and down, clapping her hands, as Luke bent to examine the weapon. 

“It’s black,” said Din. 

Luke’s gaze shot back up. “Black?”

“Sort of,” said Din. “It looks like there’s no color at all.”

Zala eyes widened further and looked as if she was ready to faint. “Whoa,” she whispered.

“What’s all the fuss?” asked Amabe as she arrived. “Nika was practically screaming in my head.”

“You’re shielding is improving,” said Luke, with a smile. Then he held out the saber to her. 

She paused, her own smile slipping. “Master,” she said quietly, and Luke could sense the deep well of hesitation in her.

“It’s okay, Amabe,” he replied in a matching tone. “Just hold it. Tell me what you sense.”

She jerked her chin a little and then set it, holding out her hand so Luke could place the weapon in her palm. They all watched silently as she focused in on the hilt. “It’s…” she breathed deep, turning the saber over. “It’s old, I think. Really old. And, I’m not sure…It’s a weird feeling, I think. Not like yours, but kind of like yours?”

“What’s that even mean?” asked Nika, impatiently. 

“Hush,” said Amabe, absently. “It’s not love, or affection, or fondness. But there is…attachment?” She looked up at Luke and he inclined his head slightly, gently summoning the saber back. 

“You’re right,” he said, and she breathed a little in satisfaction. “It’s very old. I think what you’re sensing is a form of loyalty.”

“The sword is loyal?” asked Din, eyebrows high, honest face leery. Luke cast his gaze inward, letting his unconscious mind explore the saber in his hand. Visions of past wars, hands, battles, clashes—it all compounded into a purpose, a duty, pulsing in the matter of the crystal. All light sabers had some sort of will, being agents of the Force (which was normally unknowable), but this one had a _duty_. 

“Come here,” said Luke, walking away from the colonnade benches and to a more open space. Din followed easily and Luke tried not to flush at the readiness of trust in Din’s mind. 

“Here,” said Luke, floating the saber back to Din, who plucked it neatly out of the air, eyes still on Luke. “Open it.”

Din obliged and the strangest light issued from the hilt—like the darkest area around a singularity, crowned with a glow. It was beautiful and interesting and projected strength and authority. 

“Now,” said Luke, igniting his own saber and putting his feet together. “Try to do what I do, ok?”

Luke inhaled deeply through his nose and then held the green light-blade in front of his face. On the exhale he shifted his right food slightly to the side and forward and swung the blade in a wide circle, bending his wrist so the tip just barely missed the grass on the ground, and ended the movement with his arm crossed over his face, the saber hovering just beyond his eyebrows, and his empty hand stretched out in a defensive posture. It was a simple posture from the makashi form—the one Luke decided was best for the younglings, given its holistic embodied approach—but doing it with a practice saber and doing it with a real one was an entirely different experience. 

Din was strong and graceful, that much was evident. He stood tall and sturdy automatically, and the way he moved was very considered and aware. Yet when he tried to mimic Luke’s movements, he overshot it, scorching the grass, with his saber raised above his head, as if to attack. He tried again, and the same thing happened. He glanced up at Luke, who had put his own away again, and back down at the saber. 

“I fought Gideon with it,” he said, turning off the blade. “I don’t remember it resisting me.”

“I don’t think it’s resisting you,” said Luke. “I think it’s just interpreting your will. It wants what you want. That’s why you can hold your own fighting with it, but when you want to something as controlled and, well, contained, as what I just did, it doesn’t quite work.”

Din stared at Luke, mouth taut. “How do you know this?”

“It’s a light-saber,” said Luke, shrugging. _An elegant weapon for a more civilized age._ “It works through the Force.”

“It’s magic?” 

“No,” said Leia, stepping forward, with Nika on her shoulder blatantly gaping at Din. “It’s an energy.” She reached into a fold of her robe and pulled out silvery hilt. “You’ll have the exact same resistance with mine, though perhaps not the same enthusiasm.”

Din took the offered saber and lit it, a brilliant yellow blade erupting from its end. Luke had always admired the beauty of Leia’s light-saber, and now felt it lit up Din’s face nobly.

“The Force flows through you when you wield a lightsaber properly,” said Leia, no doubt quoting Obi-Wan, who took a great interest in teaching her once she was able to tap into the Force enough to speak with him. “It both controls your actions and follows your will.”

Din sheathed the yellow blade and returned the saber to Leia, who asked him, “How did Gideon get a weapon like that?”

“He stole it from us,” said Din. “Them. The Mandalorians.”

“Why did the Mandalorians have a light-saber?”

Din studied the dark-saber resting in his hand. “An ancient Mandalorian made it. He became a Jedi. Then it was passed down through Mandalorian Kings for hundreds of years. At least, that’s the story I know. I’ve learned that what I know isn’t much.”

“A Mandalorian Jedi,” remarked Leia, whistling lowly again.

“What’s a Mandalorian?” asked Zala. 

A spark stirred in the back of Luke’s mind. 

“Oh,” he said, grinning at Din. “Grogu’s awake.”

Din sat with Grogu and Luke on the grass outside a squat temple. Leia was leading Nika and Zala through what appeared to be some sort of tumbling session in the temple, play-fighting with wooden sabers and somersaulting on the moss. Amabe sat a few feet away, working in a flower-bed, her white sleeves rolled up and hands caked with dirt. Grogu was happily settled in his lap, slurping on a noodle-broth, humming softly to himself. 

“Gideon said it was just a story, that’s its power,” said Din. 

Luke peered at him cautiously and said, “I can’t tell you about the story, or its importance. All I know is that it is yours. Whatever that means.”

Din sighed and Grogu cooed up at him. “Bo-Katan wants to rebuild Mandalore. She wants the saber to do it.”

“Why?”

“Whoever wields it, wields Mandalore,” said Din. “Whoever has the dark-saber is King.”

Luke took a moment to consider that before flopping back onto the grass with a chuckle. “Wow,” he said breathlessly. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you, Din?”

Grogu slid off his lap, eyes on a sparkling moth that fluttered past their heads. 

“Not me,” said Din, picking up a pebble in front of him and wiping off the dirt. “Things just keep happening.”

“Well, to be fair,” said Luke. “You’re the one who decided to steal a prize from under the noses of a bunch of imps.”

“I’m not the one who overreacted,” Din replied. 

Luke laughed again. “You know,” he said. “I asked you to come with me because I thought it would help Grogu learn. No one should really learn the ways of the Jedi alone. They trained with the people they loved and trusted the most, for thousands of years, so it wouldn’t make sense to keep you two separate. Not for a while, at least.”

“Everything takes time,” Din agreed, watching Grogu stumble on his way to Amabe, ears curious. 

“But I think you should stay to train, too.”

Din blinked and turned to look at Luke, who was sitting up again, eyes as warm as ever. “Train to use your saber,” said Luke. “A King should know how to use his weapon.”

“I don’t want to be King,” said Din, though his chest pinched as he spoke. 

“You still have the saber. You could’ve left it. You took it with you.”

Din huffed and turned away. “I don’t want to rescue a dead-planet. I don’t want to rule. I don’t want that. I don’t want to dictate what is and isn’t Mandalorian.” _I don’t deserve it._

Luke floated the pebble out of Din’s hand and spun it around, hovering above his palm. 

“Sounds like you just don’t want to be a type of King,” said Luke, pensively. “And now you have the power to say what type is best.”

Leia left that evening, packing away into her ship under the mournful gaze of the children. 

“Be good for my dumb brother, ok?” said Leia to Amabe, tucking a stray hair behind Amabe’s ear. 

“Will do, boss,” she replied. 

Leia bent to drop a couple chaste kisses on Nika and Zala’s heads, shaking their hands soberly. “Be strong, little ones,” Leia said to them. “I have faith in you.” They responded to this by lifting their chins, round, amber eyes blushing with fealty. 

Then she stepped up to Din, grabbing gently onto Grogu’s small wrist, and said, “I’m glad you decided to stay. I think it’ll do the galaxy good. _You’ll_ do the galaxy good.” Din had no idea what to make of this, but felt warm with it anyway. “If you need an ally, for whatever comes next, I’m here.”

Din swallowed and glanced down to where her fingers were delicately holding Grogu’s, who was cooing sweetly at the touch. 

“Whatever it is,” she said with an unflinching regard. “Let me help.”

Din nodded, mutely, but she must have picked up the depth of his feelings because she smiled and leaned close, dropping into a low, barely audible tone. “And take care of him,” she said, eyes flicking to Luke, and back again. “For me.”

Din nodded again, more ready than perhaps he should be to let her request sink into his chest and take root. Finally, she tossed herself at Luke and arms hooking around his neck. They held each other tightly, for several moments, before she slipped back, stepped away, and boarded her ship. As they watched the ship disappear beyond the sky, her deep voice rang in Din’s ear, words that were now almost alien to Din and his life, growing anew, hopeful and small. 

_Let me help_ : like a twilight star. 

For the first time a long time, Din’s life fell into a routine. 

He would wake up before sunrise and march with Luke and Amabe to the Tree Temple, a grove that somehow resembled an edifice at the highest point of the moon’s surface for several leagues. There, while Luke and Amabe meditated for a couple hours, Din would work through the postures Luke showed him, as slow as he possibly could, until sweat ran down his neck and back like little streams of ice. 

Then he would wake Nika, Zala, and Grogu and take them on a morning walk through the fruit-fields, collecting what they could while Luke and Amabe made breakfast. 

After breakfast, he would go with Amabe throughout the many gardens surrounding the old city. Though they didn’t much resemble well-tilled fields and produced nothing uniform, with different crops scattered about haphazardly, they were rich. He would dig and plant and patch up walls, mix mud and clay to help direct the flow of water, and Amabe would wander through their leaves and flowers--eyes wide with that same blank look Din had come to know meant that she was connecting deeply with the Force. He asked her on the first day, “Do you make them grow?” 

“No,” she had replied. “I just pay attention to their needs. The feel different when they’re thirsty, when the sun is too strong or too little. I think really powerful Jedi, from before, could’ve made the process a little quicker. Luke probably could make them grow _much_ quicker. But that would be sort of disruptive, you know?”

What she was able to do with the Force was harvest everything at once, standing over the garden, sometimes with Luke, hand outstretched, and the roots, leaves, and legumes would release themselves and float into the waiting baskets. Amabe gladly tasked Din with carrying these back to the temple complex. 

Sometimes he would spy Luke racing up and down the hillside, a child on his back, zooming, leaping through the trees, like he weighed nothing at all. 

The garden work normally took most of the morning, leaving Din to prepare lunch while Amabe distracted the young ones and Luke went off to do his own research. 

After lunch, Luke trained with Amabe, everyday something a little different, but they always returned glowing just a little, like the light around them wanted to curve closer to their forms. As they worked on advanced Jedi skills, Din took charge of the little ones, playing with them in the grass or showing them how to patch up a droid, or a ship. He would normally find himself walking around the old forest paths, one child in a sling, one on his shoulders, and one in his arm. Luke laughed every time he spotted Din piled high with children. 

Mid-afternoon was free-time, generally nap-time, for Nika, Zala, and Grogu, leaving Din, Amabe, and Luke free to train with the light-sabers. 

Amabe definitively did not like training in fighting skills, so she spent most of that time running through various forms with a practice saber, gaining strength and agility without clashing, until Luke forced her into a mock-duel. Din simply spent a couple hours getting knocked down by Luke, who himself never left practice breathing hard or flushed from exercise.

Once, after Din had fallen to the ground twice in the span of seconds, he had said to Luke, “You’re the worst person I know,” and Amabe had collapsed into a fit of laughter at the hurt-look on Luke’s face. 

“Ok, ok,” said Luke, pushing his just-barely sweaty hair out of his face. “I know its hard—”

Din groaned. “I fought Ashoka. I can hold my own against a Jedi.”

“Well apparently not with a Jedi weapon,” snipped Luke, while Amabe wiped her eyes. 

“Look at you,” said Din, still laying on the ground, gesturing to all of Luke. “You haven’t even broken a sweat.”

“Ew,” said Luke, sending Amabe into another fit and making Din want to shove him into a river. 

After lightsaber training, Amabe went off to look after her flowers, little ones chasing after to collect bugs or learn how to garden, and Din and Luke made dinner.

Multiple times, Din would catch Luke’s hand just as he was about to add far too much heat into a soup or sauce, and Luke would have to yield when Din thought pointedly of Grogu, who so far did not react well to spice. 

Din was beginning to understand how to communicate to the Jedi around him through the force. They normally didn’t try to pry, but they, especially the young ones, simply couldn’t help sensing his energy. Din was well-practiced at remaining detached in high-emotion moments, so it wasn’t hard to keep any of his truly negative feelings from leaking into their young minds. And for the most part, they thrived off his consciousness. Luke had put Din in charge of putting them to sleep once he realized how calm an influence Din’s normal state-of-mind was. 

“You’re like a safety blanket,” said Luke, helping Din extract himself from the pile of sleeping children. “You’re steady and warm, in the Force.” Which made Din feel a collection of unnameable things. 

Whenever Din actually wanted them to read his mind, he would think their name loudly and they would get the message. It was a great way to throw Luke off while they trained—so far, to no success, but it was amusing to watch him flick the thought away like a fly. 

After dinner, Luke would go back to his studying, sometimes with Amabe, and Din would help the kids through their nightly routine. Grogu would hang off his shoulder until he couldn’t stay upright anymore, but Nika and Zala were normally content with a simple story or a song. 

At night, Din would look at his ceiling and try not to think about Luke. 

Leia visited as often as she could, arriving in a fancy ship and in fancy clothes and immediately tossing them aside for her soft white robes and bare feet (no one apparently liked wearing shoes when the ground was so soft). Her presence always inspired the kids. They followed after her, begging to meditate with her, to go running with her, and she would oblige, speaking to them like little adults, deep and strong. 

“I’m not as well-trained as Luke,” explained Leia one night as they made dinner. “I’m not good at focusing on things spiritually like that, which is typically what makes a good Jedi. But Luke’s always been a little bit of a dreamer.”

This observation was certainly true from Din’s perspective. Luke would talk about his research or his life or just the world itself like some mystical creation. For all that he serenely and mercilessly walked through those Dark Troopers that day, he mostly appeared to have a great amount of fun. He spoke as if he joined the Rebellion because he simply wanted to fly and when he played with the children, his laughter was blinding. So joyful was he around the kids, that those moments when he wasn’t stung all the more. 

In Din’s first week on the Jedi-moon, he fell into the habit of sitting with Luke after dinner, sipping hot chocolate, and teasing Luke until he was distracted from whatever dark thoughts were overwhelming him. Luke had stumbled into the kitchen on Din’s third night, where Din was drinking some tea and and staring into the fire, trying to find some anchor in his life and failing. 

“Oh,” said Luke, drawing up short. He had a scroll in one hand and a small computer in the other. 

“Couldn’t you sense me?” asked Din. Normally Luke could tell exactly where everyone was without really trying. Din had watched the day before as Nika and Zala tried to sneak up on him. Luke had sensed them before Din had even seen them. 

“Yeah,” said Luke, frowning. “No. I was distracted?”

“Uh-huh,” said Din. 

“Hey, do want some hot chocolate?”

“Some what?”

“Hot chocolate,” said Luke. “It’s great. I try to make it only when the kids are asleep because it’s got a lot of sugar and no one really needs to deal with that. Do you want some?”

Din blinked slowly. “Sure.”

Luke grinned, tossing his scroll and computer aside, and collecting the ingredients from the high-cabinet. Din watched him, tracking his long lines. In the dim light, framed by the dark sky beyond the windows, Luke appeared young, more human than the man who had walked through the blast-doors, than the man, even, who had bent over his dark-saber. Din wanted to dress him in beskar, though he couldn’t articulate _why_ considering what violence he knew Luke was capable of. 

“You’ll love it,” said Luke, dipping a ladle into the boiling pot, now swirling with a sweet smell. “Maybe. You’re pretty hard to predict.”

Din raised an eyebrow. “Am I.”

Luke’s mouth spread into a crooked smile. “Yes, King, you are.”

Din tried not to visibly pout, but he felt his lower lip twitch.

“It’s ready,” said Luke, eyes twinkling and delighted. Unfortunately, Luke was so eager to pour Din the drink that he ended up splashing a fair amount of boiling liquid on his right hand.

“Fucking _bantha-shit_ ,” cursed Luke, dropping the ladle and tearing off his melting glove.

“What the hell,” muttered Din, grabbing the hand without thinking and staring down at the bubbling synthetic-skin. He tugged Luke over to the table and pushed the hand under a light so he could look more closely at the damage.

“How old is this thing?” asked Din, turning the hand over, running his thumb over the obviously fraying edges of the synthetic material. 

“Ah,” said Luke, averting Din’s gaze. “A few years, about.”

“Yeah, no shit,” mumbled Din and he let the hand go and reached for his work-bag. “Where does it end?”

Luke pulled up the synthetic-skin at his wrist, exposing the mechanical joint fused to cauterized flesh. _Probably from a lightsaber._ Din finished the job with a pair of tweezers, picking the melted synthetic fibers off the delicate mechanisms until he simply held in his palm the machine beneath. Then he picked up an oiled micro-fiber cloth and started wiping away the charred bits from the prosthetics wires and springs. 

“You really need to get this looked at,” said Din, using a needle to reach a small bolt at the bottom of the thumb-joint. 

“I probably won’t,” said Luke. “I’ve managed on my own so far.”

Din sincerely doubted that.

“How’d it happen?” he asked. 

Luke was silent. Din looked up to see him staring at his own mechanical fingers. There was something tight in his expression, his gaze distant. Then he let out a short, humorless chuckle. 

“What,” asked Din. 

“I’ve just realized that there’s no short answer to that question,” said Luke, smiling but with dark eyes. “No one’s actually asked so I’ve never had to answer. I guess I could say it was a lightsaber accident, but that’s pretty obvious already.”

Din put his cloth away awkwardly, finally releasing Luke’s hand. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said. “I don’t need to know.”

Luke brought his left hand up to rest next to his right and flexed his fingers, fake and flesh together. 

“Maybe you do,” said Luke softly. “Sadly, you’re already part of this story.”

Din found this hard to believe and said so. 

Luke sighed and crossed his arms on the table, tilting his head at Din. “Do you know who Darth Vader is? Was?”

“Not really,” said Din. “Was he some sort of imperial Moff? He’s the one on those propaganda posters. With the strange mask.”

Luke’s face was decidedly pale as he replied, “No. He was imperial, true, and was probably featured in a lot of imperial info-networks. But he wasn’t a Moff. He was the Emperor’s right hand.” Luke squeezed his own. “He was more than that, in a way. He was as powerful as the Emperor, maybe more, but just as under Palpatine’s thumb as everyone else.”

“How was he more powerful than the Emperor?” asked Din, tracing the way the fire-light from the stove danced across Luke’s face. 

“They were both Sith Lords,” said Luke. “Evil force-users, I guess. As strong in the Force as the Jedi. Darth Vader used to be a Jedi, in fact.”

“How do you know that?”

“He was my father,” said Luke, a smile sliding onto his lips, contained-anguish sitting on their curve. 

The world around Din fell quiet. He could only hear his own heart beat and Luke’s voice.

“He’d fallen to the dark-side and helped Darth Sidious—Palpatine, that is—take down the Republic from within. It was his power that decided the galaxy’s fate. He set a trap for me during the war, captured Leia and others, and then he fought me and asked me to join him. When I refused, he cut off my hand.”

Din felt a trickling in the back of his mind, thinking of the barest news he had encountered when the Empire fell: it was just a passing conversation between a couple people in a grungy bar. 

_Wait, how did the Emperor die?_

_Some kid, I heard. Just walked into the Death Star and killed them both._

“It was you?” asked Din, heart beating fast. “You took down the Emperor?”

Luke met his eyes, his blue eyes glimmering, and he said, “No. Darth Vader did.”

“But you were there, weren’t you?” pushed Din gently. 

Luke visibly took a calming breath. “Yes, I was there. Palpatine almost killed me, but Vader stepped in at the last minute and killed him instead. He died in the process.”

Din could tell there was something missing from this story, some crucial element that made Luke uncomfortable to share. 

“And how do _I_ play into this story?” asked Din. 

Luke wiped a hand over his mouth, a poignant devastation setting into the lines around his eyes, before he closed them and breathed it away. He looked at Din again, almost apologetically. 

“When Anakin Skywalker turned and became Darth Vader,” he said quietly. “He was tasked with killing all the younglings in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. He did. But one escaped.”

At that moment, Din realized how big a world it was that he had stumbled into, when he naively took up that bounty.

Knowing even a portion of Luke’s story was enough to make Din want to grab Grogu and run. Is this the sort of fate, the sort of fight, that awaited Grogu as he mastered his abilities? Would he carry these same burdens that Luke and Leia picked up consciously?

Luke, as he spoke about his father, seemed apologetic—as if Din would condemn him for an evil man essentially orphaning Grogu nearly thirty years ago. What scared Din, however, was how much he trusted Luke, even now that he understood a little more why he took so much care to hide his younglings and why Cara had seemed so surprised at his rescue. 

Perhaps Din’s faith was _because_ of Luke’s story. For, despite the violence of his past and his family’s past, despite the violence Luke was so capable of, he was entirely gentle with the children, even when they raged at him or threw fits. He was patient and bright and affectionate. Grogu liked to climb into Luke’s hood where it hung on his back when chilly days briefly rolled in. Luke would kiss each of them goodnight and never denied them a hug or a hand. Din would sometimes find Amabe crying into Luke’s shoulder, his head resting atop hers, humming sweetly to her. Leia seemed to visit so often solely to squeeze into her brother’s arms and hold on tight. 

Not only did Din trust Luke, he _wanted_ to.

About a month after Din and Grogu arrived on the moon, Leia brought along her husband on a visit. It was not an ideal introduction. 

“Who the kriff is this?” asked the tall, scruffy man, now trying to stand taller as he walked into the kitchen and spotted Din cooking at the stove. Beside him stood a Wookiee. Din frowned at Luke, who was already pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I literally told you, dumbass,” said Leia, shouldering past him aggressively. “Where are the kids?”

“Rose-garden,” said Din. “Amabe told them they’ll grow faster if they’re sung to.”

“That’s the most wonderful thing I’ve heard all week,” she said and raced back outside to find the children.

“I thought Mandalorians were supposed to wear that armor and shit,” said the scruffy man, crossing his arms. The Wookiee dropped into a seat at the table, clearly deciding to ignore whatever it was that was bothering his companion. 

Din was not about to explain the complications of his situation to this person. “Only when we’re fighting,” he said, fully turning to face him, crossing his arms as well. “Is that what’s happening right now?”

“Wow,” said Luke, stepping just slightly between them. “As much as I would love to see that, and I really would love to see that, I’m not sure Han can afford to convalesce right now.”

“Already betting on him, I see,” said the man, Han. “You sure never learned how to show gratitude after all those times I saved your scrawny life.”

“Stuffing me into a dead tauntaun is really not equal to me rescuing you from a powerful crime syndicate,” said Luke. 

“Don’t forget the Death Star, the first one,” snapped Han. 

“I wasn’t,” said Luke, rolling his eyes. “That’s what makes us even.”

Several things clicked into place very quickly in Din’s head: Jabba, Boba Fett, Leia, Tatooine, smuggler. 

“You’re the guy Fett took down,” said Din, too late to notice Luke’s wide eyes and his subtly shaking head. 

“ _Fett_ did not take me down,” said Han, jabbing the air with his finger. “It takes a lot more than that to get to me.”

“Are you a smuggler?” asked Din, in an attempt to change the subject. This was also a mistake. 

“‘Are you a smuggler’,” Han repeated back to him, mocking. “ _What?_ I don’t know you, pal.”

Din opened his mouth to try to walk his way out this conversation, but he was interrupted by a high-pitched giggle. He turned to see Luke, hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking, as he struggled to contain his laughter. His pink cheeks and luminous joy cut through Din’s own discomfort and he suddenly forgot about the sensitive stranger in front of him, wanting nothing more than to get Luke to break. 

“So this was the guy you and Leia took down Jabba for?” Din asked Luke, tone as dry and neutral as he could manage. “Him?”

Luke tossed his head back and laughed out loud, throaty and wonderful. The Wookie joined in and then grumbled: _Unfortunately_.

“You,” said Han, finger now jabbing in the Wookiee’s direction. “Can shut it.”

Then, thankfully, Leia returned with the children. Nika and Zala made a beeline to the Wookie, squealing: “Chewbacca! Chewbacca!” 

Leia deposited Grogu into Din’s arms and then said to Han, “Be nice.”

Which made Luke start laughing again as Han spluttered. 

Han Solo and Chewie stayed for about a week, volunteering in the fields with Din and Amabe, and taking over the cooking and cleaning, leaving the others more time to train. 

One evening Han had followed after Luke, Leia, Amabe, and Din to the mossy clearing they used to mock-duel. Han seemed to really enjoy watching Leia beat Din, cheering every-time he lost his weapon. Leia was a more ruthless opponent than Luke—possibly because Luke was always more concerned with teaching than with winning. And Din had made the mistake a week ago of getting the better of Leia exactly once, igniting a competitive fire that showed no signs of slowing down. 

“Are you this bad with a blaster, too?” called Han as Leia helped Din up off the ground. 

“Like _you’ve_ ever tried to use a light-saber,” said Leia, sheathing her saber as Amabe tossed her a water flask. 

“I don’t need to,” said Han. “I know how to use a blaster.”

“Han,” said Leia, with a grin. “He's a Mandalorian. I guarantee he could hand your ass to you in five seconds flat.”

“How does it feel, Han,” asked Luke, loping over to where Han sat, rolling up his sleeves. “To be completely surrounded by people who could take you down so easily.”

“It feels great, kid,” said Han, rolling his eyes. “But I can take _anyone_ who isn’t blessed with weird magic powers.”

“Five credits on Din,” said Amabe. “Han with his blaster set to stun; Din with his spear-thingy.” She flicked her hand at his beskar-spear where it was leaning against a tree, and floated it to him.

“Are you serious?” asked Han. “Is this what I’ve taught you about gambling?”

“Go big or go home,” she said with a cheeky grin. Han grinned back while Luke and Leia visibly held back their amusement. 

“Alright, fine,” said Han. “Let’s do this, Mando.”

He stepped into the clearing while Luke, Leia, and Amabe all stepped back, dropping onto the makeshift root-bench. 

Din met Luke’s eyes and felt a prideful heat spread across his body. He readied himself, leaning forward just barely on the balls of his feet. The beskar-spear was cool in his hand, ready. 

“On the count of three,” called Amabe.

Han crouched slightly, fingers flexing.

“One— two—three!”

In a flash, Han’s blaster was in his hand, letting off a perfectly accurate stun. It would’ve hit Din, right over his sternum, had he not blocked it with the spear. A second later, Din had swept Han off his feet and had the point of his spear hanging over Han’s neck. 

“That was under three seconds, right?” asked Amabe. 

“You okay, honey?” called Leia cheerfully. 

Han, for his part, was grinning again. “You know, I don’t think I mind.” He knocked the spear aside and stood up, clapping Din on the shoulder. 

“Good to have a Mando on our side, isn’t it?” he said, making Din wonder (for possibly the hundredth time since meeting Luke) what exactly Boba Fett had done. 

“That was quick,” said Leia as Han returned to her. 

“Yeah, yeah,” said Han, sprawling on the ground at her feet. “Not exactly a fair match.” 

“What _would_ be a fair match?” asked Amabe. “Luke and Leia?”

Luke snorted and said, “A little _too_ fair. We’ve done it before—still no winner.”

“Twins,” muttered Han, turning his eyes to the skies and shaking his head. 

A breeze blew through, cooling Din's heated face.

“How about you and me,” said Luke, for some reason addressing Din. 

Din looked at him, confused. “We spar all the time.”

“No,” said Luke, standing up. “We train all the time. Let’s spar. You with your spear, and me with my saber.”

The others were quiet while Din considered this. A strange tension was building in his ribs. 

“Ok,” he said. 

They stepped into the clearing again. Absentmindedly, Din realized his shirt had come untucked. The breeze blew again, filtering lightly across the small of his back, shirt billowing. It was easy to concentrate. All he had to do was watch Luke. 

He attacked. Din knew that if Luke came off the defensive, it would be very difficult to find the energy to push him back, and Luke had a greater endurance. Din also knew he was stronger, that his blows would land with more weight, so taking an offensive strategy was best. That didn’t mean it wasn’t difficult. Luke spun his saber so fast, it looked twice as long to Din up close. But Din’s spear really _was_ twice as long, and he’d done this before. 

Luke parried every swing, and Din pressed forward. They circled each other. Luke knocked his hilt hard against the spear, making it vibrate, disrupting Din’s attack. He pulled the spear back to guard his side as Luke swung in, leaving it unbalanced in his hand. The end fell behind his feet. He stepped back fast, kicking as hard as he could, letting the spear twist in his hands, as it rounded over his head. Luke barely got his saber up in time to block it. He tossed it off and they separated, breathing hard. 

Luke grinned, flicking his mussed hair out of his eyes. Din’s heart nearly lept out his throat. This time when he attacked, Luke did nothing but block. Din tried everything to provoke him: he tried to trip him, he shoved forward with his elbows, he went low, he went high. He didn’t know how long it went, all he knew was that his body was soon aching, his whole shirt was completely soaked, and Luke’s defense was still holding. He caught sight of Luke’s pink face, of the strain in his forearms, and, almost not there at all, the sound of his breathing. Din dropped all pretense of trying to win fairly and rushed him. 

Luke, unable to block without the Force or maiming him permanently, dropped his light-saber and let out an _oof_ as Din collided with his chest. Din caught his arms and pushed them against the grass, unabashedly sitting on Luke’s middle. 

“Cheating,” breathed Luke. 

Din shrugged and said, just as breathless, “I’m not as noble as you.”

The breeze picked up again, playing with Luke’s honey-colored hair, making the trees rustle, and sending enticing chills up Din’s arms and across his chest. He could feel the rise-fall of Luke’s lungs under his thighs, his ribs expanding and holding Din’s weight effortlessly. 

Luke whispered, tender, “Yes, you are.”

A round of applause broke over their tense breathing. Din scrambled off him, flexing his hands to shed the memory of Luke’s pulse on his palm. 

“Ok,” said Han. “ _That_ was entertaining. Mando, you are one helluva fighter.”

Aside from Leia’s visits, and an enigmatic, handsome man named Lando, who never stayed longer than a couple hours, Din and Luke were the only adults on the Jedi-moon. Naturally, they fell together without much effort. They stayed up late, talking, cooked side-by-side, played with the children, shared the burden. Shared a lot more. 

Without realizing it, Din was getting to know Luke better than he’d ever known anyone. Even as a child, training with the Watch, or even on Nevarro, Din had really only felt companionship with a relative distance. The pain of being orphaned and his zealous dedication to the creed were both extreme ends of his emotional state, both so big they tended to scare him off feeling anything else. He drifted loyally among his people, never feeling lonely, never feeling alone, but never feeling open, either. It was a good life, and he still longed for it, like a man might long for a missing limb. Then the Purge, and he was condemned to solitude. 

But now he woke up every morning to the sound of Grogu’s snoring. Everyday, Grogu would bring him something, a rock or a flower, and climb onto his lap, pat his cheek, and be with him, ask for him. Everyday, he cooked for a handful of precocious children, showed them how to build things, sang them to sleep. And everyday, he found himself at some point, sitting next to Luke, talking. 

He learned that Luke grew up on Tatooine with his moisture farmer Aunt and Uncle (“I spent my free time rigging my speeder to go faster and shooting womprats”). He learned that Luke loved hot chocolate but wasn’t a fan of candy or cake. He learned that Luke had to stay busy, or he’d walk around grousing at nothing. He learned that Luke was the sort of ace-pilot that nobody believed could be real. 

He learned that Luke would sometimes get a little lost in the Force. He found him once, sitting on his knees in the middle of the Sun Temple, tears streaming wildly down his face, eyes blank and distant. Din had called Amabe and told her to keep the kids distracted, to not go to far down their training-bond with Luke. And then he sat down in front of Luke, gripped his hands, and started talking, low and gentle. “It’s okay,” he repeated, stupidly. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

It took a few minutes for Luke to pull back into himself. When he did, he had covered his face with his hands, breathing deeply until his chest stopped shaking. 

“Are you okay?” Din whispered, wanting to grab his hands again. “What happened?”

“Sometimes,” said Luke with a heart-aching twist of his lips. “I can feel it. I can feel them dying.”

“Who can you feel?” asked Din. 

Luke huffed a dry laugh. “Who can I _not_?” he said bitterly and quietly. “Everyone on Alderaan, their pain is still floating out there. Everyone on the Death Star. I can feel that right here.” He pressed a hand to his stomach. “Mostly, though,” he sighed and looked up at the vaulted ceiling. “Mostly I feel the Jedi. The way they were ripped out of the Force.”

Din gave in and grabbed one of Luke’s hands, again. The flesh one. 

“There are other things to feel,” said Din, feeling rather naive for saying anything at all. But Luke had nodded and squeezed Din’s fingers until they bruised. 

Luke discovered that Grogu could use the Force to heal when Din had tripped, trying to avoid stepping on Zala who had crawled out from her hiding place at precisely the wrong time. This was relayed to Luke, while he was meditating with Grogu in the fruit fields, by a teary and completely inconsolable Zala. 

When Luke arrived on the scene, Din was bleeding profusely from his forearm while he shushed and comforted a terrified Nika, and Amabe was tearing through the cabinets, cursing under her breath, looking for the aid-kit. 

“Alright, it’s okay, little one,” Din was saying softly. “It’s just a scratch. I promise. I’ve had worse.”

This prompted both Zala and Nika to start wailing louder. 

Luke dropped Zala and Grogu into Amabe’s arms and summoned the aid-kit from the shelf by the door, causing Amabe to flush sheepishly. 

“Ok, I want everyone to take a deep breath and hold it as long as they can,” Luke said as he knelt at Din’s side. Zala and Nika both puffed out their cheeks, chests hitching as their sobs died down. Din ran his uninjured hand up and down Nika’s back. “Good,” continued Luke, after they had exhaled. “Now, Din, if you feel calm enough, can you tell me what happened?”

Din rolled his eyes but said in a soothing, steady voice, “I tripped and caught myself on a sharp edge. I have a shallow, _non-lethal_ cut.”

Luke bit down hard on his grin as he pulled Din’s forearm into his lap and cleaned up the cut. It definitely wasn’t as shallow as Din was saying, but Luke wasn’t going to share that information. 

Before he could go any further in bandaging him, however, Grogu whined loudly, louder than Luke had ever heard him, arms stretching to Din. Amabe stumbled forward as he threatened to fall out of her hold, and Din held both his arms out to catch him. 

“Hey there,” said Din softly, setting Grogu next to Nika on his knee. Grogu crawled forward to inspect the scratch. Then he closed his large eyes and Luke felt something dazzling light up the Force. He watched, astonished, as Din’s skin started stitching itself back together under Grogu’s tiny hand. 

Before it could fully heal, however, Din caught Grogu’s claw and pulled his attention away. 

“Hey now,” said Din, cradling Grogu against his chest. “You know Luke doesn’t want you to push yourself like this.”

Grogu cooed, weary but not on the verge of passing out, and settled into Din. 

“What,” said Amabe. “Was that.”

(Training Grogu had been a new set of challenges for Luke. Grogu was deeply familiar with the Force, with some terrible instincts to keep it hidden from strangers, so he required a lot of careful attention, affection, and patience. When Luke had finally coaxed Grogu into actually _using_ the Force, without Din there to help persuade, he would then immediately go overboard and exhaust himself. Unfortunately, he knew just what he was capable of if he pushed himself, but that meant that he was hurting himself in the process. 

Luke had spent several mornings passing a flower petal back and forth with him—an easy task for Zala and Nika, but difficult for Grogu who had no idea, or had lost it a while ago, how to rein himself in. His memories of his training from the Old Republic days were fuzzy and largely blocked, and Luke, not wanting to truly traumatize the child, had to start over with many basic skills. 

Beyond that, Grogu was constantly triggering Luke’s memories of Yoda, which would leave him, some mornings, needing to meditate through a series of hard emotions, all circling betrayal and deep loss. Once, at lunch, Grogu had crawled on on all fours to take something off a platter, causing the whole thing to tumble, and while Din had scooped him up with a stern scolding and the girls erupted into giggles, Luke had lurched himself out of the room, only to collapse pathetically on the stairs just outside the walls. 

Now, in a brilliant turn, Grogu had something to teach him.)

“Grogu,” said Luke, sliding a finger into his grip and filtering some of his own strength into Grogu’s small body. “How did you do that?”

Din raised his eyebrows. “You can’t do that?”

Luke shrugged and said, trying not to sound so sad about it, “I don’t really know how. I can pass strength, I can soothe pain on a mental level, but actual healing? That art was lost when the Old Republic fell.”

Din glanced down at Grogu, who was holding tightly to Luke’s finger and was perking up rapidly. “Is it an advanced skill?” he asked. 

“Sort of,” said Luke. “It takes an enormous amount of energy, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. It’s more secret than it is advanced.”

“What’s a secret?” asked Zala from Amabe’s lap. 

“How to use the force to heal,” said Luke. “From the little I’ve been able to learn, it was a closely guarded theory at the Jedi Temple. I keep trying, but I can’t figure out where or how they’ve hidden it. I guess it’s too easy to abuse, too dangerous for people to really trust.”

“What?” asked Din. “Why? Everything you do seems magical to me. What makes some magic more trustworthy than other magic.”

“I think it had something to do with preventing death,” said Luke softly. “With enough power, you could stop yourself from dying. Age, yes. Die, maybe never.”

Palaptine’s distorted, wrinkled face floated across Luke’s vision and he brushed it aside. 

“The Jedi never wanted to seem more powerful than they felt they _should_ be,” said Luke, now thinking out loud as he stroked Grogu’s knuckles. “But it would probably be one of the first things a youngling would learn. The theory of it anyway. Kids get into all sorts of trouble.”

Din considered this quietly and Nika and Zala followed his lead, perhaps sensing something important, but more likely still recovering from the emotional turmoil from five minutes ago. 

“Can Grogu explain it you?” asked Din. 

Luke shook his head. “No, he’s already told me he doesn’t really know how. He just does it.”

_Do or do not._

Luke breathed in and out quickly, settling his mind and releasing his hold on his sadness. “Okay, I have an idea.” He lifted Grogu off of Din’s lap and set him on his own.

Grogu cooed up at him. “You’re welcome," replied Luke. "Anytime you want to push yourself, just let know. Fainting isn’t good for you, okay?” Grogu tilted his head in agreement. 

“Now,” Luke said, pulling Din’s still scratched up arm between them. “I want you to heal him. I’m going to be in our training-bond, watching, lending you strength, but don’t pay attention to me. Just focus on your task.” 

Grogu made a happy sound and looked to Din. Din leaned forward, so his arm wasn’t awkwardly stretched out, pressing his thigh to Luke’s knee. “It’s okay,” Din said to Grogu, so close, his hair brushed against Luke’s, making Luke’s bones ache. “Go ahead. Luke will help you.”

Grogu made the same happy sound and then bent over Din’s arm again. Luke dived into their connection and watched. 

A strange light seemed to wash over Luke’s face from within while Grogu healed Din’s arm. As Luke promised, Grogu was bolstered by Luke’s strength, and he cooed giddily after he finished, full now of excess energy, rather than being drained of it. 

Luke however, was pale as he handed Grogu back to Din, got up, and left. 

Amabe looked after him, clearly concerned, but Zala was still sniffling a little against her tunic so she made no move to follow. Nika grabbed at Din’s arm and ran the tips of her fingers down the healed skin. 

“Do you mind watching them?” asked Din, scooping Nika and Grogu both up. 

Amabe nodded at him eagerly, and said to the children, “Alright guys, let’s go find some lizards in the Sun Temple.” 

Din left them to it and raced after Luke. 

After slipping down the hillside, over the stream, and walking beyond the colonnade, Din found Luke where he had expected to: looking across at the distant waterfall, sitting above the spice-garden, on top of an old vine-covered archway. 

Din didn’t bother to alert Luke to his presence as he climbed up the vines to sit next to him. Luke already knew he was there. Din trusted Luke to know. 

“Did the kid drain you?” asked Din as he settled beside him, letting his legs dangle next to Luke’s bare feet. The sun was directly overhead, making Din squint as he looked across the landscape. 

“No,” said Luke. “No, don’t worry. I’m much stronger than he is, if you can believe it.”

“I can’t actually,” said Din, dryly. “Could you fight off a Mudhorn?”

Luke breathed out quickly, a small smile hanging on the corner of his mouth. “Yes,” he said. “And I could do it without fainting afterwards.”

“Proud of besting a child, are you?”

Luke smiled in full. “You know I am,” he said to Din with a wink, and Din laughed. 

“So if you’re not drained,” said Din. “And you’re not intimidated by a kid, why’d you run away?”

Luke said nothing, smile slipping away to be replaced by a still gaze. Din resolved to wait him out. 

“Can I ask you something?” Luke finally said. 

“I asked _you_ something.”

“Din.”

“Luke.”

Luke stared at him, blankly. 

“Fine,” said Din, turning away from that blue attention. “What.”

Luke, bluntly, asked, “Why don’t you wear your armor?”

Din’s breath stuttered and he dropped his eyes to his hands, now clenched up on his thighs. 

There were a hundred answers to that question, none of which he really wanted to say out loud. He had been so vulnerable, as vulnerable as it gets, that moment when the droid-army attacked, the last time he had bared his face. Before Grogu. 

Then he recalled a similar moment, in which Din had asked Luke a simple question ( _How’d it happen?_ ) and Luke had exposed his belly with barely any hesitation at all. 

“I don’t think I can,” said Din, a barrier in his mind cracking. 

Luke pulled one leg up and folded it under the other, turning his chest to fully face Din. 

“Why not?” he asked.

Din’s body was relaxing, inexplicably, under Luke’s undivided regard, and though he couldn’t face Luke himself, he felt him—strong and bright. 

“I didn’t grow up on Mandalore,” said Din. “I wasn’t from a Mandalorian family. As a kid, I lived on Aq Vetina, in the Outer Rim. One day, towards the end of the Clone Wars, an army of droid-troopers came and killed nearly everyone in the settlement. Including my parents.”

“How did you survive?” prompted Luke, offering no condolences but letting his fingers hook lightly onto the loose sleeve of Din’s shirt, holding the fabric between his knuckles—a hint of a touch. Din swallowed, tracing the hazy horizon. 

“My parents locked me in a hatch,” he continued. “They hid me. I heard them die. And then one of the droids started trying to get in. Kept pounding at the door until it opened. Then the Mandalorians came. They saved me. They adopted me. I took on the Creed.” 

Remembering that moment, when the helmet first descended over his face, Din felt warm. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel it. The shelter, the controlled darkness, the cool fabric, the unrivaled sense of protection. Even more, the sense of oneness. 

“They took me in, trained me, helped me,” he said. “Foundlings are common in our culture. We’re not a kind, or a species. Mandalorian isn’t a race, it’s Creed. That’s all that matters. That’s what makes a clan. And that’s all I needed, at the time. A clan.”

Luke’s fingers slid away to be replaced by his forehead, just grazing the edge of Din’s shoulder, before lifting away. 

“I’m glad they saved you,” he said, voice stiff. 

Din closed his eyes and focused on the heavy light laying down on him like a blanket. Luke’s touch on his shoulder radiated. He felt, absurdly, like he could fall from any height and not be hurt.

“Then Mandalore was lost, along with everything else, I guess. And I had no clan, all I had was the Creed. Which was both easy and hard. But after I met Grogu, I met some other Mandalorians. And I learned that maybe I didn’t have the Creed to begin with.”

He ran a hand down his face before going on, to test if he was crying or not. He wasn’t.

“They said the Mandalorians who had saved me, adopted me, raised me—they said the Children of the Watch were a cult. I was taught that if I removed my helmet in front of another living soul after I put it on and accepted the Creed, then I would never be able to put it back on again. I would no longer be Mandalorian. But these Mandalorians bore the armor, the helmet, and fought with Rising Phoenix, their jetpacks. And they took off their helmets. And they put them back on. And said everything I knew of the customs was from a _cult._ ”

A thin cloud creeped across the sun, turning the gold light to pinkish-amber, softening the features of the trees around them. 

“When Grogu was captured, I took off my helmet in front of two men in order to get the information I needed to find him. When I thought I would leave him forever, I took it off again. Now,” Din lifted his shoulders and let his hands fall open in his lap, indicating emptiness, confusion, and a profound disorientation that he woke up every morning trying to ignore. 

“Now,” he said again. “I have the dark-saber, which Bo-Katan wants but probably won’t get without possibly killing me. A King of Mandalore with no Creed.”

Luke said nothing in response. They breathed together, slowly, lost and side-by-side. The air picked up, a low-pressure system moving swiftly down the hillside where the old city and temples sat. The rush sent the scents of afternoon blooms across the back of Din’s neck, slipping across his bare face and tossing his curls. He had let it grow in his time on the moon, both relishing in the air’s attention to it and resenting that he could feel it at all. 

In between gusts, Luke finally spoke. 

“Grogu is the same species as my old Master,” he said. “I couldn’t tell you what species that is or where their home-world is. Master Yoda was singularly focused on my training when Obi-Wan sent me to him. He had very little faith in me, to begin with, and probably far too much at the end. He spoke in riddles, mostly. Said stuff like, ‘There is no why,’ and ‘Do or Do not,’ and never explained. He would just say, ‘Free your mind of questions,’ and then told me to go meditate while I stood on my hands.”

Din copied Luke’s posture, facing him fully, burning with an almost childish curiosity. Luke was looking down at his hands, picking at the seams of his glove with a thumb. 

“He hid the truth about my father from me,” he said and Din took a hold of his anger and muted it. “Both him and Ben, Obi-Wan, thought it would be better if I thought my father had died and that I never had a sister to begin with. Then Darth Vader told me himself. When I asked why they didn’t tell me, they just said I wasn’t ready for the truth. And then told me I needed to face Vader—kill Vader, that’s what they wanted—that’s what they thought would bring balance. I had to face Vader to defeat the Empire and to become a Jedi.”

The corner of his jaw tightened and his voice deepened. “But I didn’t kill Vader. In fact, I refused to. I could have. I was strong enough. He was on his back in front of me, at my mercy. I could have cut through his throat easily. But I didn’t.”

He took a shaky breath and the muscle in his jaw loosened. “My father was born enslaved on Tatooine. Then he was saved and raised by the Jedi. Then he was poisoned against them and fell to the dark side and became enslaved again. And he was mine. And I was mine. Not Palpatine’s. So I didn’t kill him. I threw my lightsaber away and told Palpatine that I wouldn’t.”

The sun was hot but, listening, Din felt cold. He crossed his arms to hold up his heart. 

“Palpatine tried to kill me with force-lightening,” said Luke, which made something in Din’s mind go absolutely feral. “He was going to torture me until my strength failed and I died. But Darth Vader killed Palpatine first. I spent so long hurt and confused and angry at Ben and Yoda—for not telling me or Leia the truth, for wanting me to kill Vader at all. For using me, for keeping Leia in the dark as a failsafe, for letting the Republic fall in the first place.”

He shoved a hand into his hair and gripped hard, a shimmering glow in his eyes as he looked up into the sky. 

“Then today, your son,” Din’s heart stuttered, “did something wonderful, something only Jedi can do.”

He reached forward and grabbed Din’s now un-injured arm, and ran his fingers down the skin like Nika had, flushed with the same sort of wonder. 

“His mind was tapping into yours, but also the very space between your molecules,” whispered Luke. “He was using the light, the energy, that’s in your skin.”

Luke looked up at Din though Din couldn’t tear his gaze away from where the tips of Luke’s fingers still rested on his forearm. 

“Master Yoda said to me once,” he continued. “When I was being petulant and afraid, he said: _Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter._ It’s taken me until now to understand what he meant. _Everything_ about our matter is light. We’re not dull, or small, or empty. We’re full of light. We _are_ light. Down to the molecules on our skin.”

He released Din’s arm and folded his hands back into his lap, retreating a little from the intense earnestness. But Din couldn’t retreat from it. The lines of Luke’s touch were sinking deep under his skin. 

“I understand how you might feel--” Luke paused searching for the word. “Betrayed. Unsafe. But whether or not you meant to, you stopped some evil people from doing some evil things because you wanted to save your family, just as I did. It’s always going to be complicated. But however complicated it gets, there _are_ some fundamental parts of you. Like you said, your clan and your Creed. And honestly Din, you’re too luminous to let fear dictate either.”

For a couple weeks after that, an un-asked for peace settled into Din’s mind like a bird settles on her roost. He made a breakthrough in his training with Luke, no longer fighting so hard with his saber, finding creative ways to ask it to do what he wants. Grogu was coming alive after so long on the run, somehow even more wild than before—actually running, practically skipping, for the first time since Din had found him, falling deeper into trusting Luke and the girls who made no secret of how they loved him as they scooped him up and pressed kisses to his long, green ears. 

Din would sit by his window at night, letting the starlight reflect off his beskar spear, and think over and over: _Everything takes time_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cara Dune is in this chapter more, so just feel free to imagine her played by a decent person and not a certain transphobe we don't need to name.

_There it was—her picture. Yes, with all its greens and blues, its lines running up and across, its attempt at something. It would be hung in the attics, she thought; it would be destroyed._

_But what did that matter? she asked herself, taking up her brush again._

Virginia Woolf, _To The Lighthouse_

* * *

  
The peace couldn’t last. 

Luke was called off planet a little over three months into Din’s stay. 

Winter was setting in, the open-air rooms were shut-off with their glass storm-barriers and while Luke, Amabe, and Grogu insulated the temples and erected the automatic greenhouses, Din spent a morning with Nika and Zala dropping thick, insulating blankets on the many floors of their complex and in the corners of their rooms. He put the ones that would emanate heat, under a certain temperature, in the kids’ rooms and hung a few in the doorways to the halls and closets. 

The morning Leia commed, with a baffling request, the air was crisp, and beautiful ice-crystals were frosting against the glass, giving everything in the kitchen a pearly glow in the filtering sunlight.

“She used to call me way more often,” said Luke as he packed that afternoon. Din was silently watching him, leaning in the doorway. “Then I found Amabe and the twins and took a bit of a break, so I could watch out for them.”

Din hummed, but didn’t say anything else. 

Luke exhaled roughly and said, “I won’t be gone long.”

Din just looked at him. 

“I told them to be on their best behavior,” offered Luke. “And I told Amabe to be extra nice to you.”

Din said nothing. 

Luke pushed his gloved hand into his hair and said, voice high, “What?”

“Is there a reason you’re going alone?” Din asked. 

Luke just looked at him, mouth opening helplessly.

Then he frowned and snapped, “Well, next time you stumble across a powerful force-user who can figure out why a small planet with millions of people on it is literally poisoning itself like some sort of rock-based Sith lord, for no discernible reason, let me know.”

Din shook his head and walked away. 

Five nights after Luke had left on his mission, Din sat outside the Green Temple, watching snowflakes fall in the lamplight. They glittered like stars on their way down and Din lost himself in watching them fall. 

Amabe walked through them gracefully, holding two tea cups and pot. 

“Grogu is wondering where you are,” she said, handing him a cup. “I told him you were thinking about boring adult things.”

“I am,” said Din as she sat next to him on the steps. She wore a heated blanket on her shoulders and a fluffy hat over her ears, which pleased Din to see. 

“I know you would tell us if you knew,” she eyed him, suspiciously. “But I have to ask. Did he tell you when he would be back?”

Din shook his head. 

“This sucks,” she whispered. “Do you think if I told him you weren’t a great baby-sitter he wouldn’t leave for so long again?”

“Could you lie to him?” asked Din, raising an eyebrow. 

She grumbled, “Maybe. If I tried really hard.”

Din snorted and replied, “I mean, magic powers or not, _would_ you.”

Her lower lip jutted out and said softly, “No.”

A sentiment Din could agree with. 

“Did he ever tell you where we came from?” she asked, tucking the blanket closer around her. 

“No,” said Din. “Just that you called for him, like Grogu.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Only it wasn’t really like Grogu. There was no seeing-stone in the Hutt prisons.”

Din stared at her, a new, yawning rage in his gut. 

“I’d been enslaved for a few years when they brought the twins in. Twi’leks are super sought after, in those circles. They were put with me, so I could watch over them—keep them from running, more like. But one night, Nika had a nightmare, and I saw it in my own head.”

“How did Luke find you?” asked Din gruffly. 

“I’d never been beaten before,” she responded, and Din folded his arms over his stomach to keep it together. “I was a kid, and really well behaved for the most part. But they were trying to separate Nika and Zala, and I got in the way, and so they started hitting me. I felt them both reaching out to me, I felt their fear in my head, and I sort of looked out the window and begged for help. I think it was our combined fear that got through to him. Also, sometimes he just sits outside and tries to make his mind as big as the galaxy. The next day, he came through, killed the slavers, the head honcho and everything, and brought us here.”

Din lifted her cup out of her hands and pressed his shoulder to hers. She pressed back, tipping her face to rest on his arm. 

“He’s so annoying,” she said. 

Din agreed with that, too. 

Luke touched down on the moon in the middle of the night. He had killed his lights before he even entered the atmosphere, and was congratulating himself on a successful sneak-in, when he walked in on Din sitting by the fire in the kitchen, sharpening his spear. 

“Welcome back,” said Din, not looking up. Maybe Luke could get away with this, if he played it right.

“Thank you,” he said as lightly as he could, stepping towards the hallway. He was almost there when Artoo let a series of shrill beeps, dragging Din’s bitter attention from the spear to the droid, and, as was probably Artoo’s plan, Luke’s face. 

The spear clattered to the floor. 

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” said Luke as Din marched over and grabbed his chin, tilting it right and left to survey the marks on the sides of his face. “And I’ll be able to heal it after some sleep.”

“Where else are you hurt,” said Din. 

“Nowhere.”

Din stepped back and rubbed his eyes. “You are so stupid.”

“Ok,” said Luke. “My hips also. And I maybe broke a rib.”

“Stupid,” repeated Din, glaring at him. 

Luke’s entire body ached, and he’d already been yelled at by Leia, and all he wanted was to fall into bed until his brain stopping beating so loudly. 

“I’m fine,” he said. “I stopped it, by the way, thanks for asking. A giant space slug was polluting the groundwater, and also, like, everything else. And I sent it away, to some uninhabited asteroid. It barely landed a hit.”

Din crossed his arms. The ‘v’ of his sleep tunic stretched just slightly further down with the movement, elongating Din’s already long, brown neck. Luke swayed a little in place. 

“It sounds like,” said Din, chilled. “And correct me if I’m wrong, because I’m not an all-powerful Jedi and probably don’t know better, but it _sounds_ like it would’ve helped to have someone there, to, I don’t know, _help_. Like, _maybe_ , you wouldn’t have a broken rib, if you hadn’t gone in alone.”

The fact that this was such a reasonable thing to conclude, that Din was right, enraged Luke. 

“Ok, tell that to the Dark Troopers you helped me fight,” he snapped. 

Din sighed, turned and snagged a bag from the aid shelf, and then grabbed Luke’s arm and started dragging him downstairs to the large fresher. 

“Din, seriously,” protested Luke, too tired to do much more. “I’m so tired. I’ll clean up in the morning.

Din sat him down on the stone bench in the corner, grabbed several rags from the lines above their heads, and dropped a bucket of sweet-smelling soap and a bag of anti-septic wipes on the bench by Luke’s hip. He tilted his chin up again and began cleaning away the blood and debris on Luke’s face, making sure to wipe up the blood that had dripped onto his neck. When Luke’s face was clean, he opened the anti-septic cloth and applied it to the open cuts on his cheeks and forehead. Then he stepped back and knelt, unclipping Luke’s belt and pushing aside his tunic. He repeated the process on his hips. 

When he was done, he dropped the bloody rags in the washer and shoved a glass of water in Luke’s face. 

“Drink,” he said. Luke did. 

“Are we finished?” asked Luke. 

“Did you want some bacta patches?”

“Nope,” said Luke, putting the glass down and standing up. He swayed again, but his face and sides weren’t throbbing anymore. Not that he was about to admit that to Din. 

Din followed closely behind him, back up the stairs, which Luke supposed was another reasonable thing to conclude, given that he tripped twice. 

When they reached the warm air of the kitchen, Luke almost passed out right then and there, on the fuzzy winter blankets laid out to conserve heat. Instead he turned to Din and threw up a messy salute. 

“Goodnight, Din,” he said. 

“I’m glad you’re okay, Luke,” said Din. 

This was precisely the wrong thing to say to Luke, in his condition, exhausted and with no inhibitions left to speak of. Din was glowing like an ember, both in the Force and not, the fire-light curving around his body like a lover. His hair was falling perfectly on his forehead and neck—his tunic hung so softly from his shoulders. 

Without thinking, Luke fell forward. 

He pressed his nose into the hollow above Din’s collar bone and wrapped his arms around his waist. Every inch of his body sighed in relief. Din hesitated only a moment to wrap his arms around Luke shoulders, and the weight of them invaded every conscious and unconscious part of his mind until Luke was absolutely nothing more and nothing less than a creature being held by Din Djarin. 

Then he passed out. 

After Luke woke-up far later than he meant to, tucked away in his own bed, with an extra blanket he’d never seen before. He got up and showered and healed himself, rehearsing his apologies to Din, over and over in his head. But when he walked into the kitchen, only the children were there.

Apparently, in Luke’s absence, Din had pushed aside the other tables, leaving more floor space for the children’s study materials and toys. Nika and Grogu were both practicing somersaults on the softest rug while Amabe sat with Zala next to the fire, helping her make a pot a tea. 

“Where’s Din?” he asked, and then was promptly tackled by two squealing twi’leks. 

“Master Luke!”

“You’re back, you’re back, you’re back!”

He sat down next to Amabe by the fire-pit, and let Nika and Zala talk over each other for a few seconds (“…snowman—”; —force-lift!”; “—even though I _hate_ orange fruit—”), before putting a finger to his lips. They both took a deep breath and exhaled and Luke, heart-bursting, laughed and tugged them into another hug. 

“Ok, well that all sounds very exciting,” he said as Grogu toddled over and pushed into his arms.

“Master Luke,” said Zala suddenly, slipping off his lap and putting her hands on her hips. 

“Yes, Zala,” he said, sensing a scolding. 

“You were gone for too long,” she said bravely. 

“I know,” he said, looking down at Grogu who was giving him a similar lecture in his mind: _Don’t leave._

“Mister Din _missed_ you,” said Zala, stamping her little foot. 

Luke closed his eyes to control the onslaught of emotions. Zala was never indignant about nothing, not like Nika who would fight any battle she wanted. She had also clung to Din from the beginning, reaching for Din’s steadiness where she had very little, so she would probably be the quickest to pick up on Din’s mood, even before Amabe, who tended to let impressions from other consciousnesses wash over her without concern. 

Zala also had a habit of expressing her own wants and fears through others—mostly through Nika—and was apparently happy to use Din if the situation called for it.

“I’m sorry, Zala,” he said, plucking at the front of her robe gently, where she had spilled some sauce. “I’ll do better next time, I promise.”

She crossed her arms and looked away. He set Grogu on his shoulder and leaned forward to tilt her chin towards him. 

“I never want to leave you,” he said, letting his love for her and Nika and Amabe and Grogu radiate. “I’ll always come back.”

Her eyes filled and she tumbled into his chest again. Nika patted her back clumsily and smiled up at Luke, making him want to cry as well. 

He sighed and looked at Amabe, who had been silently regarding him since he walked into the room.

“Alright, Padawans,” he said, setting down his charges. “Can you go work on your tree-forms, for me? I’ve got a few prizes for most improved.” He, of course, had prizes for all of them.

Successfully distracted, Nika and Zala eagerly took Grogu into their tumbling corner, while Luke waited for Amabe to speak. She turned back to the fire and, when the kids were out of earshot, asked quietly, “How hurt were you?”

“Not very,” replied Luke.

“I saw the anti-septic packages downstairs.”

Luke exhaled slowly. “Just the anti-septic,” he said. “No bacta or anything else required. Din cleaned me up last night. Only a few cuts and bruises.”

She nodded. Then she twisted and fell against him and Luke squeezed her shoulders. 

“Missed you, kid,” he said. 

She nodded again and pulled away, reaching for the teapot over the flames. 

“Din left you some breakfast,” she said, gesturing to the table, where some steaming rice sat on a hot-plate. “He said you had to eat it before you talked to him.”

“Oh boy,” said Luke under his breath, ribs aching, despite the force-healing. Some hollow thing in him, long dormant, was now screaming to be fed. 

After inhaling as much as he could as quickly as possible, he took his plate down to the sinks, prepared once more to apologize—for a little more than simply staying away too long without contact. Snippets of his last few conversations with Din kept floating back to him, making him feel sick with shame, the fainting episode not withstanding. 

But Din wasn’t washing clothes, or dishes, as Luke walked downstairs. Frowning, Luke opened up his awareness, braving the sleep-deprived headache, and sensed him just outside the frosted windows. He pulled on his boots by the back-door and his poncho, and followed Din’s steps in the snow. 

He found him at the colonnade, laying on his back on the bench, dark curls spread gently atop the snow. He was flicking his beskar spear in a circle above his head. The winter sun cast him in silver and the cold-weather blooms fell around him like a blessing, framing him like an ice prince. He was so beautiful it hurt. 

Luke walked up and sat down on the ground, pushing through the first chill of ice on his legs, bringing his head level with Din’s. Din turned to him and Luke hungered to put his palm on the warm curve of his neck and also to tell him off for not wearing a scarf.

“Thank you,” he said, instead. “And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of it.”

“Okay,” said Din, turning his face up to the sky again. _Ok, crazy._

Luke sighed. 

“Din,” he said. “I swear I didn’t.”

“Ok,” said Din, again. 

“What do you want me to say?” asked Luke, gripping the fabric over his thighs. 

“That you won’t do it again,” said Din. “That you won’t go on a mission alone.”

“I can’t promise that,” replied Luke, staring hard at the curve of Din’s jaw. Luke was starting to realize that there was little he wanted more than to keep Din here, under the trees, princely and safe and beautiful.

“Won’t be the first time I don’t get what I want,” shrugged Din. 

Luke looked away from his face briefly, and then back again, searching for the right thing to say, and coming up empty. 

“Anyway,” said Din. “I’m thinking that maybe I’ll start bounty hunting again. Bring in some extra funds.”

Luke considered just throwing-up. 

“Ok,” he said, softly. “I get it.”

“I’m serious,” said Din, spinning his spear neatly on his palm. “I’ve got a face no one has seen before. That’ll be in high demand for at least a few years.”

“Ok,” said Luke again. 

“Imagine the sorts of places I’ll be sent,” continued Din. “Probably end up in some imperial strongholds. Without the beskar, even, since I’m trying to be unrecognizable.”

“Fine,” said Luke. 

“Maybe even some Core worlds,” mused Din. “Get tangled up in some underground shit. There might be a danger there of getting lost in the crowd, which is exciting. That’s where people go to disappear, right? Big cities?”

“Din—”

“Maybe I’ll just go places I _have_ been before and hope no one remembers my voice, or manner, or body—”

“ _Stop._ ”

Din caught his spear with a snap and set it aside, gaze still fixed on the sky. 

“I’m sorry,” said Luke again, helplessly, voice cracking. “Please don’t—don’t leave.” 

“I’ll come back,” said Din. “Maybe injured. But that’s okay. You can just heal me right up.”

Luke swallowed hard and, as if a cord had been cut in his neck, he dropped his head onto Din’s bicep, heart rushing. 

“Fuck,” he whispered. 

Din said nothing. 

Luke stayed there, resting against the soft flesh of Din’s lax arm, breathing him in, letting his pulse calm down. 

Then he said, “If you come with me, you’re wearing your armor.”

There was a pause.

And then Din sat up quickly, swinging his legs in front of him. He caught Luke’s face in his hands and said, voice steady, but the brightest, most glittering brilliant thing in the Force that Luke had ever seen, “This is the Way.”

He leaned into Din’s palms, wilting against his skin, then asked, “Why aren’t you wearing gloves?”

Din snorted and drew away.

“I’m going to take a nap,” said Din, standing up. “You’re on duty."

 _I love you_ , Luke thought, watching him walk back inside. 

A week later, Din sat in the kitchen, his gauntlets and vambrace pieces spread around him on the floor, work-bag open on his lap. 

“What are you doing?” asked Nika, coming back from training with Luke, Grogu’s hand in hers and Zala following close behind. 

“Just some repairs,” he said, working a micro-fiber cloth through the intricate gaps in the base of his whistling-birds tech. 

“What is that?” Nika pointed to the bucket of bird-munitions at his hip while Zala tapped at his unpolished left vambrace on the floor and Grogu leaned close to the beskar of his shining right one, examining his own reflection in it. 

“They’re small explosives,” said Din, subtly trying to shift so they would be hidden from view. 

“Why are they small?” she asked, now trying to reach for them.

Din caught her searching fingers and gently guided her away, shoving the bucket behind his back with his other hand. 

“They’re a weapon,” he said. 

“Shouldn’t weapons be big,” she said, settling happily onto his knee as Zala started trying to fit one of his vambraces over Grogu’s tiny arm. 

Din wished briefly for Luke, wondering how much it was appropriate to reveal to a kid.

“Weapons should be effective,” he corrected, reaching for his duster to blow out the debris embedded in the bottom plate. “Size matters not.”

“Like me!” she said. “I can be ‘fective!” 

Din smiled down at her and said, “That’s true.”

Grogu toppled over from the weight of the vambrace, sending Din a distressed look. Din sighed and picked him up, handing the brace back to Zala and setting Grugu on his shoulder. Grogu cooed and starting happily playing with Din’s hair. 

“How come this one is shiny and this one isn’t,” asked Zala, gesturing to the polished brace in front of her and holding the other with a look of deep concern. 

“I haven’t polished it yet,” he said.

“What’s ‘polish’?” she asked. 

“Something you use to protect metal. Helps it not to wear down.”

Her eyes widened a little at that, as if this was astounding information. Then she started picking at a stain on the corner of a hinge. “What’s this?”

“It’s just a bit of dirt,” said Din, shrugging. “Maybe some dragon blood.”

“Some what?” Nika grabbed onto his face and turned it down, staring deeply into his eyes. “A _dragon_?”

Din nodded and Grogu squealed lightly at the movement. 

“Did you fight a _dragon_ , Mister Din?” asked Zala, clambering onto his other knee. 

Din gingerly shook off Nika’s grip and said, “It wasn’t just me. Grogu was there, too. And some others.”

“Where?”

“How?” 

Din abandoned his cleaning, putting down the launching base and leaning back against the wall. Grogu curled up tight on his shoulder, having produced his silver ball from out of nowhere. 

“Tatooine,” said Din. 

“That’s where Master Luke is from!” said Zala, grinning. 

“That’s also where the dragons live,” said Din, poking her puffed out belly softly. She bent over it with a giggle and captured his hand to hold onto. 

“What happened?” Nika asked, laying back against his chest and pulling his arm over her shoulders. 

“Well,” said Din. “There was a town that was in danger. The dragon kept eating some of their houses and everyone in it. So Grogu and I decided to help them out.”

“Did you know how to beat a dragon?” asked Zala. 

“Not really,” said Din. “But I had some friends among the sand-people, who knew almost everything about the dragon. So I asked for their help, and we fought it together.”

Grogu cooed loudly in his ear, scratching at his neck. 

“Grogu says it ate you!” gasped Zala. 

“Only for a few seconds,” said Din. “I escaped and then blew it up.”

“Whoa,” said Nika. 

Din patted Zala’s back, who seemed a little shaken and a bit unconvinced that he had survived the encounter. 

“I don’t _believe_ you.”

Din looked up. Luke was standing in a doorway, snowflakes clinging to his hair and the fabric of his winter-poncho, boots in hand and dripping on the rug. 

“What,” asked Din.

“You killed a krayt dragon on Tatooine with an army of humans and Tuskan Raiders.”

“Yes.”

“You jumped into a krayt dragon’s mouth.”

“Not technically. Kind of just stood there when it came for me.”

Luke’s mouth hung slightly open.

“What,” Din repeated. 

“You’re a hero,” said Zala, evidently calmed down. “You’re like a knight. Grogu says you used to be shiny.”

Luke scoffed and shed his poncho, hanging it up by the door. “He still _is_ shiny, Zala. Don’t let your eyes deceive you.”

Zala looked up at Din, considering, the blank-Force look descending over her eyes. Then she snapped back to a delighted smile and said, “Oh, yeah.”

“But how come you don’t wear your shiny clothes?” asked Nika, sliding off his lap to pick up his polished vambrace. 

“Is it because they’re too dirty?” asked Zala. “You should clean them.”

Luke stifled a laugh from across the room as he made lunch. Din ignored him. 

“They’re not just clothes,” he said, reaching behind him and pulling out the beskar-cleaner and a new cloth. “They’re armor pieces. I wear them to protect myself.”

Grogu peeped from his shoulder. 

“And to fly?” asked Nika confused, frowning up at Grogu.

“Yes,” said Din. “And to fly. Mandalorians wear a jet-pack to fight.”

“Are all Mandalorians heroes?” asked Zala. 

Din looked up at Luke, who had paused in his vegetable chopping and was watching Din carefully. His heart rose as he met Luke’s eyes; it zoomed through his chest and up into the sky and the final piece of Din’s fear gave way. 

“Yes,” he said, unblinking as he gazed at Luke. “At least, we try to be.”

On Leia’s next visit, she brought Han. Han brought an old jet-pack. 

“Where did you find this?” asked Din when he had tossed it onto the table, unceremoniously. 

“Eh, some guy I know,” said Han, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry—didn’t steal it off any Mandalorians.”

“No Mandalorian would be caught dead wearing something so out of date,” said Din, lifting a broken leather strap. It had teeth marks. 

“Yeah, well,” said Han. “Lucky for you, Luke’s a little mechanical genius. He can fix her up.”

Din tried not to be offended at the implication (a Mandalorian takes care of his own) but it must have shown on his face, anyway, because Han then said quickly, “Not to say that _you_ couldn’t, you know, fix it.”

So Din found himself working nightly on the busted old pack, with a fervor that he had he thought lost for good. 

Though Din forbade Luke from touching the thing, Luke would hang around, handing Din tools, often before Din asked for them, and making endless pots of hot cocoa. 

“You sure do need a lot of gadgets to be a Mandalorian,” said Luke, picking at the exhaust-port of the flame-thrower. 

“To be a Mandalorian,” grunted Din, head deep inside the pack engine. “You only need the Creed.”

“What about to be a Mandalorian King?” asked Luke, grinning impishly. 

“Still just the Creed,” said Din, holding out his hand. Luke placed a flex-wrench in his palm without hesitating. “Thanks.”

“What’s it like, flying without a ship under you?” asked Luke. 

“What’s it like leaping thirty feet in the air?”

“It’s pretty great,” said Luke, resting his chin on his hand and tapping his fingers on his lips. 

“What,” said Din. “No mystical answer for that one?”

“You know, Din,” started Luke in his teaching voice, which he knew annoyed Din to no end. “I think you’re underestimating the Mandalorians.”

Din stopped what he working on and raised an eyebrow at Luke. “ _I’m_ underestimating them.”

“Yeah,” said Luke. “You’re a lot more mystical than you’re owning up to.”

Din rolled his eyes and focused back on the pack’s wiring. 

“Do you know what I mean?” asked Luke, still in that condescending tone. 

“No,” muttered Din. “But I’m sure you’re about to explain it to me.”

He could almost feel Luke’s grin. 

“Well, for starters, there’s the helmet,” said Luke eagerly. “You cover your face most of the time, and you know what that does? Makes the face sacred. Also, your helmets are all designed in similar ways, with the”—he drew a ’T’ in the air—“which is also sort of sacred.”

“Have you been researching this?” asked Din, reaching for his hot cocoa. (He preferred tea, himself, but he didn’t have to tell Luke that). 

“Yeah, an appropriate amount,” was Luke’s response. 

“What a weird thing to mention,” said Din. 

“Anyway,” continued Luke. “It’s clearly not just about wearing beskar armor. It’s about wearing beskar armor a certain way. That’s the sacred part. It’s like kyber-crystals. Jedi don’t worship kyber crystals—though some people do, which is their right. But Jedi use them in a really specific way. It’s how we use them that makes them sacred.”

“Fascinating,” said Din, grabbing his torch to cauterize a wire-end. 

“And then there’s the fact that you all went pacifist for a bit there,” said Luke. “That’s kind of informed by mysticism, isn’t it? Like, if that’s going to be part of your Creed, that implies a sort of impractical attitude about existence.”

“It wasn’t that sort of pacifism.”

“But it was _a_ sort of pacifism. It was a choice about how and when and why to use your powers. Mystical.”

“Practical.”

“Fine,” said Luke, which meant he didn’t actually agree. “But you can’t say the dark-saber stuff is practical.”

“Believe me,” replied Din. “I’m well aware of how ridiculous it is.”

“Point is, Din,” said Luke, handing him a pair of scissors, clearly very pleased with himself. “Whether you like it or not, you represent the mystical center of the Mandalorian Creed. It’s best you accept the burden now, before it drives you mad.”

Din ran a hand down his face and said, “There are worse things. I could be a Jedi.”

Luke’s laughter set Din’s body alight. 

Din sat on his window-sill when the first warm day re-appeared in the air. The heat would be gone again in a few hours, a storm building on the horizon, but for now it was easy to sit in the un-filtered beams. He had his leg stretched out on the edge, blocking Grogu from tripping out the window while he rolled around and tore up a bunch of flowers on the stone. 

Din cast his gaze on his armor, more ready and clean than he’d yet seen it. His spear leaned against the wall, reflecting the sun. 

“We could just stay here forever,” said Din. “You definitely should.”

Grogu gurgled at him inquisitively, slowly lifting a petal into his mouth. 

Din thought of Luke, walking into that Death Star, with no greater desire than to save his father. He thought of the city that he had helped Ashoka liberate. He thought of the Armorer, branding his beskar, saying to him, “Under the Creed, he is yours.”

“This is the Way,” he said, the words a comfort, though he could not explain them now, even to himself. 

_Luminous_ , he thought, watching as the sunlight turned his silver beskar into gold. 

Luke lay next to Din in the Tree Temple, counting the bright buds on the perfect domed canopy above them. He passed through each one with his mind, leaping from bud to bud, taking in each new flower bursting with heat. Din sat by his hip, keeping an eye on the children as they chased after the newly-thawed moths. 

“Did the Jedi really kidnap children?” he asked. 

Luke’s eyebrows drew together as Din looked down at him. 

“What?” he asked. 

“I’d heard it before—rumors,” said Din, shrugging apologetically. “The evil race of sorcerer’s who would kidnap children and rip apart families.”

Luke, still frowning, looked back up at the canopy. 

“No,” he said. “They didn’t. Families would send their children, ask the Jedi to help them. Being so sensitive to the Force can be very dangerous. Extremely dangerous. Especially for those you’re closest to.”

“Is that why Jedi were forbidden from having families?” asked Din. 

“Where’d you hear _that_?” asked Luke. “More rumors?”

Din glanced away from him and said, “Research.”

Luke inhaled and held the air in his chest for three seconds and then released it, along with edges of the emotions all competing to react to that. 

“The Jedi weren’t forbidden from having families,” said Luke. “They _were_ family. Like Mandalorian foundlings.”

“You know what I mean.”

Luke met Din’s gaze for a moment and looked away before he started blushing. 

“I do,” he said. “But it still wasn’t forbidden. Not in the way you’re thinking.”

Din lay down next to him and turned his head. _I’m listening._

Luke put his clasped hands over his stomach to keep track of his breathing and then said, “Every species has its own rules and limitations. But, yes, largely the Jedi were taught not to have children. They were taught that they needed to remain detached, to keep the Force in balance.”

“What is ‘detached’?”

“Not what you’re thinking,” said Luke again, with a smile. “It doesn’t mean distant. Or separate. Or loving from afar, or even un-loving. It just means you can’t love possessively. You can’t claim someone or something with your love. You can _only_ love.”

Din said softly, “Like with your father. The Emperor claimed him. You loved him.”

Before Luke could properly contain them, tears sprang into his eyes and leaked down his face. He felt as if Din, with that simple understanding, had reached inside his ribs and killed the monster that lived there. 

“Yes,” said Luke, regaining control in a breath. “That’s all it took.”

“What about marriage?” asked Din, mercifully ignoring Luke’s brief tears. 

“It wasn’t absolutely unheard of,” said Luke. “It was just extremely discouraged. Too much could go wrong. A Jedi had to be able to love everyone and everything—they couldn’t divide up their heart. If a powerful Jedi is given the choice between the galaxy and their spouse, they have to be able to choose the galaxy.”

Din turned onto his side and pressed his forehead onto the curve of Luke’s shoulder. 

“That doesnt sound evil at all,” he said, lightly. “It’s kind of beautiful.”

“Master Luke, I think I’m ready to make my own lightsaber,” said Nika, earnestly, at breakfast. This was the twelfth day in a row she had announced this and Luke responded in precisely the same way and precisely the same tone as he had the first eleven times. 

“I have great faith in you,” he said, spreading jam on his toast. “But I don’t agree you are ready.”

Nika threw down her napkin and asked, “How am I supposed to be a Jedi if I don’t know how to use a lightsaber?”

“You will learn,” said Luke. “Just not today.”

“Of course,” added Din. “If you wanted to learn how to fight like a Mandalorian, we could start right now.”

“If you give her a jetpack, I’ll have to do something drastic,” said Luke under his breath while Nika and Zala both started shouting their ready enthusiasm for such an adventure.

“Relax,” replied Din. 

Half-an-hour later, they were in the clearing, practice sabers in hand, running through Mandalorian drills. Din knew it would only take a couple days for them to get bored with it—Luke trained them mostly by tricking them into games and letting their creativity guide their process—but for now the routine drills were new, and he figured he could at least show them a certain discipline in practice as a way to discourage them from wanting to train to fight. 

“I think Grogu’s tired,” said Zala, pointing her practice weapon at Grogu, who was laying on the ground swirling a cloud of pollen over his head. 

“Baby’s don’t need to learn to fight,” said Din. 

“Mister Din, where’s your lightsaber?” asked Nika. 

“In my room.”

“What if you need it?” 

“I don’t. 

“But what if you do?

Din sighed and looked to Luke for help. Luke simply lifted a shoulder and said, “It’s a fair question.”

Din stared at him for a second. Then he rushed him. 

The girls cheered as Din pinned a laughing Luke to the grass. “You are so annoying,” said Din, squeezing Luke’s wrists. 

“So annoying, so stupid, so crazy,” listed Luke. “You really don’t think very highly of me, do you?”

“No,” said Din. “I don’t.”

Luke just smiled up at him and Din could almost feel Luke’s strength spreading up his arms, into Din’s blood. 

Nika and Zala quickly piled on, tangling them together, and Din found himself laughing for the first time in a long time. 

Then, without warning, Luke sat up, his body stiff and eyes focused. The color drained from his face. 

“What,” asked Din, sitting up and crouching next to him. “What is it?”

“Leia,” said Luke. “Something’s wrong.”

Din, with Grogu and Zala, and Luke, with Nika, raced down to the ship courtyard just as a dinky old ship touched down. Amabe was already there, brows pinched as she watched it land. 

“Did you feel it?” asked Amabe. “She’s hurt?”

“No,” said Luke, passing Nika over and shaking his head. “No, just distressed.”

It only took a few seconds to see why. Leia walked down the ramp, supporting a limping Han, who had one arm around her shoulder and another around Lando’s. Chewie followed, chest grumbling a string of Wookie cursewords. 

“Heya, kid,” called Han. 

“Han,” said Luke tightly. “What happened?”

“Broke my leg,” he replied, which Din thought was fairly obvious. 

“I think he meant how,” snapped Leia, who was radiating a cold fury.

“I know what he meant, Princess,” said Han, rolling his eyes. “There are children present.”

Leia glared up at him but didn’t say anything else. 

“Set him down,” said Luke, kneeling on the ground. 

As they carefully lowered Han, Din knelt next to Luke and said, “If a cut takes an enormous amount of energy, what will a broken bone take?”

“I just want to try,” said Luke. Din sighed but stayed close as Luke reached for Han’s leg and his face went bright and blank. 

“Amabe,” said Din, eyes on Luke, waiting. “Take the girls to the kitchen and boil some water. And make sure to find a bacta bandage.” 

“I’ll go with her,” said Leia, tense. She collected Zala and they swiftly left. 

“What’s he doing?” asked Lando, supporting Han’s back. 

“Trying to heal him,” said Din. “Being an idiot.”

“Huh,” said Han, looking completely bewildered. “What’s new?”

Then Grogu whined lowly in his ear and Din snatched Luke’s hand away from Han’s leg. 

“Enough,” said Din. Luke gasped once and Din could see him slam back into consciousness. He looked up at him, breathing hard, and said, “It’s alright.” 

“Luke,” said Din. 

“I promise,” he insisted, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I stopped the internal bleeding, and that’s it. You’re right. Shouldn’t mess with bones.”

“Like the plants,” said Din. “Can’t be disruptive.”

“Yeah,” said Luke. “Exactly.”

“Ok, this is cute and all,” said Lando. “But we’ve got a situation. And I don’t mean this moron's leg.”

When they got Han settled in the kitchen, wrapped up in bacta and sipping on some pain-relieving tea, Leia sent the kids to play in their rooms with Chewie and slammed a holoprojector on the table, practically shaking with fury. 

The image of a New Republic X-wing pilot emerged and said: “ _General Solo report confirmed. I repeat, confirmed. Hostage situation. Approximately seventy-four lifeforms—underage. Again, hostage situation. Seventy-four underage lifeforms. Solo report confirmed. Harik out.”_

Leia paused it before the hologram could repeat.

“What’s this about?” asked Luke, arms crossed, staring at the frozen pilot. 

Leia snapped. 

“I’ll tell you what it’s about!” she shouted. “It’s about the fact that the Empire thinks it can just rebuild itself under our noses! That the fucking Senate isn’t doing shit about it! I’ve been telling them, for years, that we need to _support_ the Outer Rim! That we need to establish a presence, to show _kriffin’ democratic strength_! And now this! Fucking slave trafficking, mass kidnapping, army-building—right out in the open!”

“Neighboring planets kept reporting to the local New Republic Navy Outpost about their children being stolen, for a few months now,” said Lando. “All reported a different hostile actor: gangs, mercenaries, smugglers, bounty hunters for the Hutts, and just your regular ruffian-type. Leia suspected there was a hidden pattern and I’ve been trying to help her piece it all together. Han and I stumbled across a talkative mercenary. It’s some fringe group of ex-imperials. Calling themselves the First Order.”

The name tugged on a memory and snippets of a conversation from months ago filtered across Din’s mind: 

_…Well, it’s a small sacrifice for the greater good, son._

_Depends on who you ask, don’t you think? All those people, the ones who died. was if good for them?…_

_…We’ve outlasted them. The New Republic is in complete disarray, and we grow stronger….You see boy, everybody thinks they want freedom, but what they really want is order. and when they realize that, they’re gonna welcome us back with open arms…_

Leia started shouting again. “And now they won’t give me the resources I need to fucking take them down!”

“It’s not like they can send in the Navy,” said Lando. “What’s an army going to do with a hundred hostages, even if they manage to keep them all alive in the fight?”

Leia laughed humorlessly. “It’s _almost_ like we need a specialized force in the bureaucracy, trained in handling delicate situations like this, with magical powers.”

“Where are they being held?” asked Luke, his jaw setting, eyes hardening. Din stepped closer to him on instinct. 

Leia and Lando exchanged a look and Han, dropping his head back, said to the ceiling, “The wrong fucking planet, is where.”

Leia sighed and then looked straight at Din. 

“Mandalore."

Din sat on his bed, Grogu in his lap, staring at his armor.

He had earned every piece. Worked and scraped for the beskar. Lived through years of devastation and loneliness. Lived through too much, really.

But none of that mattered. The armor couldn’t matter without the Creed, without the Fight. It couldn’t be the sign of the Mand’alor, the sign of a bounty hunter, the sign of a sufferer. It could only be armor. 

This was the Way. 

“I’ll be back,” said Din to Grogu. “I promise.”

Grogu put his claws on his face and pushed. Din’s mind, so open after months of training with Luke, and gardening with Amabe, and playing with Zala and Nika, let him in. 

_Lovelovelovelovelovelove._

“I love you too,” whispered Din, pulling Grogu close so he could tuck his face into Din’s neck. “I’ll be back.”

_Fightfightfight._

“I will,” said Din. “There’s work to be done.”

He set Grogu down and picked up his helmet. He looked into his reflection, fragmented by the dark ’T’ cutting through the silver. He closed his eyes, thought of his clan, his rescuers, his family, and that hatch with its pounding, pounding, pounding in the dark. 

Then put the helmet on and opened his eyes.

They decided Han and Chewie would stay to watch the children. They, being Luke and Leia, Lando remaining a careful neutral. Chewie was rather pleased with this delegation of labor and made the whole process of saying goodbye that much easier given how much Nika and Zala preferred him to pretty much any other being in the galaxy. Han was not exactly enthused.

“It’s my ship,” said Han for the third time, leaning on Amabe and Lando’s shoulders as he watched Luke and Leia load up whatever they thought they might need. 

“Mister Solo,” said Amabe. “I think you’re being a little dramatic.”

“When is he not?” asked Leia, strapping on her third blaster holder. 

“I’ll take of her,” said Lando, then quickly added, “The ship, I mean. Leia can do what she wants.”

Han glared at him. “The Princess _thinks_ she can do what she wants. But _actually_ the Princess is _not allowed_ to come back as anything other than ‘perfectly fine.’ Got it?”

Leia stepped forward and kissed Han’s cheek. “Sounds fair to me,” she said softly. 

“Okay, Amabe,” said Luke, putting a hand on her other shoulder. “You’re in charge. Make sure the others meditate for a least two hours everyday. Keep your minds open.” 

She nodded and then slipped out from under Han to hug him. “Be safe,” she said. 

“I will,” he said. He kissed her forehead and stepped back. 

“Make sure they eat a balanced diet,” he said to Han, who smirked.

“Don’t lecture me, kid,” said Han. “I’m the one who taught you how to cook—”

“Oh,” said Amabe, breathlessly.

Din had arrived. 

Luke's heart caught on its own rhythm as Din lightly jogged down the steps into the courtyard. Watching him felt a bit like watching a wave crash against a cliff—inevitable and thunderous, sparkling with briny foam and the sound of rain. He shimmered as he walked up to them, his spear strapped to his back, carrying his jetpack in his hand, the dark-saber hanging from his hip. Luke’s fingers twitched at his sides. 

“Huh,” said Din as he stopped next to them, head tilted towards the _Falcon_. “Nice ship.”

Luke rolled his eyes. 

“Well, well, well,” said Han. “Did you hear that, kid? _Nice ship_.”

“Ok, Han,” he replied serenely. 

Din nodded at Han, squeezed Amabe’s shoulder and patted her cheek affectionately, and then strode up the ramp.

“Hmm,” said Lando, eyes tracking Din as he disappeared into the ship. 

“Yeah,” said Leia, voice husky. 

“He’s a good man,” said Han, still smug.

“I’ll say,” muttered Lando. 

“ _Hmm,_ ” said Leia. 

Luke narrowed his eyes at them, pressing his lips into a thin line. “If you three are done.”

“Is Master Skywalker jealous?” asked Lando. 

“This is going to be fun,” said Leia. 

  
  
Nevarro was even more impressive than the last time Din had visited. The city walls were overtaken by settlements and that old-factory smell of burnt ozone had finally dissipated, leaving nothing but the smells of a desert city, dry and crisp. 

As Din and Luke walked down the streets, Din relished in both the relief of the presence of so many people and of the filter through which he saw them. He felt sturdy and whole, wearing his beskar and with Luke hooded and careful, walking by his side. 

“Something smells good,” said Luke, facing a street-vendor selling some type of meat on a stick. 

“If by good you actually mean terrible,” said Din. 

“Reminds me a little of Mos Eisley,” remarked Luke, tossing Din a small smile from under his hood. 

“Only you would have fond memories of that place,” said Din. 

“Well, at least it wasn’t being slowly eaten by a krayt dragon.”

“That would only have been an improvement.”

They followed the signs to the Marshal’s office, dodging busy pedestrians and ducking the fascinated stares. When they finally arrived at the door, Din paused. 

“Don’t,” he said to Luke. “Don’t do the intimidating Jedi thing.”

“What intimidating Jedi thing?”

Din groaned softly. “Just don’t do it, ok? She won’t respond well to it.”

“She already knows who I am.”

“Luke.”

“Fine.”

Din nodded and then walked into the building. 

Cara was sitting on her desk, rifling through a folder with an officer leaning over her shoulder. 

“Don’t be afraid to just tell them to fuck off,” she was saying. “None of this is actually permissible, right to free speech or not. We’re not hanging—”

“Hello, Cara,” said Din. 

Cara whipped around, an enormous smile lighting up her face, crinkling the Rebel tattoo on her cheek. 

“Well, look who it is,” she said swinging around, thrusting the file she was holding into the officers chest and dismissing them with a nod. “Thought you’d disappeared for good.”

Din could only shrug. 

“Let me guess,” said Cara. “You need my help.”

“A lot of people need your help,” said Din. 

“Smooth-talker,” she replied. “But yeah, it’s true. I’m in high demand.”

“Cara—” started Din, but she held her hand up. 

“I’ve actually been waiting for you to show up,” she said, hopping down off the desk.

"You have," said Din, glancing at Luke, who made no response.

"Oh, yeah," she said. "You're a little bit helpless, you know?"

Luke tipped his head down and Din shifted his weight to stand on his foot.

"Anyway," she said, brushing her hands together. "That's not actually why. Even if it's true."

_"Cara."_

“Calm down, highness," she said. "Did you know that our little stunt taking out Gideon made the news?”

"I don't read the news."

"Oh, don't I know it," she laughed, turning around.

She opened a door behind her desk and gestured for them to follow. “The thing that got everyone’s tits up the most, really, was the rumor that it was an elite force of Mandalorians who took out those Dark Troopers.” 

Luke snorted. 

“So I started getting some calls,” she continued as they walked down a long hallway and down some stairs. “Some requests. Some lost people looking for guidance.” 

They rounded a corner and Din’s heart sped up as he recognized Mando’a carved into an arch above them, hanging from the stone ceiling. High, long windows lined the tops of the walls, letting in the gray Nevarro light. They passed a pile of dusty cabinets, feet echoing on the wooden floor. 

“A friend of yours has been working hard to keep up with the demands,” said Cara. 

The turned again into a wide open hall and Din’s heart came to a brief stop. 

“Guess who doesn’t want to be underground, anymore,” said Cara. 

The entire room was full of beskar-armor. About twenty or so Mandalorians sat or stood around a collection of tables, bearing maps and charts and weapons. Faces bare or not, they were talking and moving and planning and just _there,_ lit up silver in the dry air. As they slowly became aware of their new observers, they paused, the sweet mumble of conversation dissolving, surveying Din with equal shock. 

A rusty familiar voice called out: “Mand’alor. It’s about time.”

“I don’t understand,” said Din, trying not to stare at the colorful collection of people gathered across the room, all peering at him curiously or pretending not to. “I thought the Aqualish had taken everything.”

“Not everything,” said the Armorer. “Paz and I rescued the beskar. We were in hiding on Kashyyyk when the news of Moff Gideon’s arrest hit the holonets.”

“The Wookies were pretty impressed with the story,” sad Paz, amused. “A whole squadron of Dark Troopers, a powerful Imperial Moff, and Mandalorians working with Rebel fighters—it was exciting enough to reach our ears. We tracked down your friend here,” he nodded to Cara, who smirked, “looking for you.”

“We were rather surprised to learn you had won the dark-saber,” added the Armorer. 

Din looked between them and asked, “Does that matter to the Tribe?”

“In some ways,” said the Armorer. “In some ways, not.”

“Anyway,” said Cara. “They weren’t the only ones who found me. Jhaci over there was next. She had Breegit and Abis with her. They had heard rumors of the dark-saber being taken back from Imperial hands. They’re from Mandalore. And they want to take that back, as well.”

Din looked to the woman Cara had pointed to, standing against the far wall in armor painted burnt yellow, an intense gleam in her face. 

“What about the others?” asked Din. 

“Solo mercenaries, bounty hunters, farmers, even,” said Paz. “Heard the story. Wanted to find other refugees of the Purge.”

Din shook his head. “I don’t understand,” he said again. “Why now?”

“We did not know our numbers,” said the Armorer. “We did not know how many were hidden across the galaxy. There are more than in this room. Old and young. Solo and Clans. Scattered but now…”

Din ducked his head, mind whirling. He thought of his conversation with Leia, all those months ago. _It takes more than saying things to build a people._

“Sorry to interrupt,” said Luke, standing sentinel behind Din, voice measured as it emerged from the shade of his hood. “But I think someone is coming. And they’re not happy.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Cara, waving her comm. “That would be Bo-Katan. I called her. She’s pretty eager to see you.”

“Din Djarin.” Bo-Katan’s voice rang in the tense silence. 

The last time Luke had seen her, she had been out cold, hanging off someone’s back. Now Luke was struck with the her fevered ferocity, carefully wrapped up in her mind like one rigs a catapult—destruction but with aim. 

Din stood as she took a few steps into the room. Luke melted back against the wall, keeping all his senses open and ready. 

“Bo-Katan,” said Din, neutral. He moved away from the table in the corner and adopted a casual posture, one leg just slight bent and angled behind the other. He looked as if he were simply waiting for a transport. 

“Where have you been?” she asked, cold but not hostile. 

Din turned his head for a moment and then back. “Training,” he said. 

“You’re a hard man to find,” she said, moving further into the room and removing her helmet. 

Din said nothing. 

She eyed him, jaw tight. “Are you here to fight for Mandalore?”

“No.”

Luke felt the tension in the room grind like a jamming blaster—he could almost hear the collection of emotions cracking in the Force. 

Another woman came forward, the one who had carried Bo-Katan out of the imperial ship. 

“Then why are you here?” she demanded, tilting her chin down, her brow furrowed in anger.

“Koska,” said Din, nodding politely in greeting. Then, “I came for Cara. To ask for help.”

“Oh, so you’re not even here for _us_ ,” said Bo-Katan bitterly. 

Din simply looked at her. 

“What’s going on?” called Cara. Her energy had spiked at the sound of her name, but she still sat casually in her chair, feet up on the table.

Din twisted a little to address her, but kept Bo-Katan in his line of sight. 

“Imperials,” he said. “They’ve been raiding planets on the Outer Rim, outside of Hutt space.”

“Raiding for what?” asked Cara. “Are they building a weapon?”

“They’re raiding for children.”

All the tension in the room snapped away into horror. 

Din continued. “About a hundred children—kidnapped. We found where they’re keeping some of them. But they’ve been using third-parties to disguise their purpose, so there could be more.”

“Where?” asked Paz. 

“Mandalore,” said Din. 

In the silence following, Luke could hear a twenty heartbeats speeding up. 

“Mandalore?” said Bo-Katan. “Are you serious?”

“They’re in a remote city,” said Din. “A village, or an outpost, but still domed.”

“Why would they go there?” asked someone. 

“Why wouldn’t they,” spat Bo-Katan. “It’s perfect. Everyone thinks Mandalorians are finished, the planet even more so. The Old Republic never cared for us and the New one cares even less.”

“What does this do to our plans?” asked the woman in burnt yellow, Jhaci, pushing off the wall. “We didn’t expect the Imperials to still have an investment in Mandalore.”

“It changes nothing,” said Bo-Katan, voice hard. “It’s the same fight.”

“No, it isn’t.” 

Leia and Lando now stood at the room’s entrance. Luke suppressed the urge to laugh. She had been waiting in the hall for the right moment. 

“Who the kriff are you?” asked Koska. 

“Senator Leia Organa,” said Leia, striding into the room. Lando took a post in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the wall and sending everyone who looked at him a small, charming smile.

“Holy shit,” whispered Cara. 

Leia looked to Din and cocked her hip. “I thought we were here to collect one person,” she said. “Not a squadron of Mandalorians.”

Luke could feel Din rolling his eyes under his helmet. 

“They have skin in the game,” he explained mildly. “I thought I would ask.”

“I can’t believe this,” said Bo-Katan, tossing her helmet loudly onto a table. “You take the dark-saber, you disappear for months, and show up with a Jedi and a New Republic Senator, with plans to _go_ to Mandalore, but not to _win_ it.”

“You don’t have to come,” said Leia, examining her fingernails. 

“If you’re a Senator,” said Koska, cutting in with a vicious tone. “Why don’t you just snap your fingers and send the Navy.”

“Why don’t I, a single Senator, send a battalion of heavily weaponized ships to an ex-imperial encampment holding nearly a hundred children hostage?” asked Leia, her deep voice dripping with condescension. “Is that what you’re asking?”

“No,” said Bo-Katan, crossing her arms. “Why don’t you, a political kriffin’ figure, send a battalion of heavily weaponized ships to an occupied planet of the Republic to oust the enemy? Even better, why haven’t you done it before now?”

“I do not think you are assessing the situation accurately,” said Leia, smartly fuming. The angrier she got, the more her language fell back into her royal Alderaanian accent, sharp and correct. “Nor do you seem to understand the basic functions of the Senate.”

“The enemy of the New Republic is the Empire,” retorted Bo-Katan. “If you will not fight the Empire, then what’s the point of you?”

“I’ve been fighting the Empire since I was a _child_ —” started Leia.

“And what have you been fighting _for_?” snapped Bo-Katan, taking an aggressive step forward. “What did the Empire take from you? A useless, outdated state? A bloated democracy that _elected_ its own _dictator_? _I’ve_ been fighting for my _home_ —I lost my _home_. What do you know of that sort of loss?”

Cara had her blaster pointed at Bo-Katan in less than a second and in another second every Mandalorian except Din had their blaster pointed back at her. 

Luke breathed out and sent a rush of love to Leia, who stood there, red lips firm, dark eyes pale. 

“I’m from Alderaan,” said Leia. “Don’t talk to me about loss.”

Bo-Katan, expression solid and livid, slowly lowered her blaster away from Cara. Cara did the same and the others followed. 

“We have our mission,” said Bo-Katan, the fire from her energy replaced with her normal belligerent steadiness. 

“So you won’t help us,” said Leia. “You won’t help us liberate children on your own planet.”

“Our mission is to take back Mandalore, and nothing less,” said Bo-Katan. “If the New Republic won’t help, then so be it. We can’t compromise the Way for a half-baked, gutless rescue operation. Where will be when you’ve done what you came to do?"

“A full-scale military operation would endanger too many people,” argued Leia, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “We’d be condemning children to death, if we attacked the planet outright.”

“You don’t know that, Senator.”

“You don’t know otherwise,” said Leia. “What are you willing to risk?”

Bo-Katan scoffed and then said, “Our plan is to take the capitol city. They’ve set up their little operation in one the most remote places on the planet. Our mission doesn’t have to threaten theirs. The most important thing, the thing that will save those children and others, is taking back _control_.”

“The absolute last thing any Imperial wants to happen is for a planet’s citizens to retake their seat of sovereignty,” said Leia, eyes flashing. “They’re fascists. Your very existence is a threat.”

“The New Republic does not dictate the Way of the Mandalorian,” said Bo-Katan. 

Luke closed his eyes as a golden flash illuminated his vision in the Force. A piercing, yet beautiful, ringing sound erupted in the room, cutting off Leia’s retort, echoing against the wood and stone. 

Din stood lazily beside Leia, his beskar-spear in hand, still vibrating from being struck on the floor.

“No,” he agreed softly. “Creed does.”

Bo-Katan started to argue but Din asked over her, “Are you the Mand’alor, Bo-Katan?”

She gaped at him,

“There are lost children on Mandalore,” he said, now addressing everyone but still in that same soft tone. “They are foundlings. Creed dictates they are in our care until we can return them to their people.”

He turned back to Bo-Katan and stared her down. “This is the Way.”

“The planet's atmosphere is too toxic,” Koska said, cutting her arm across her chest. “We have to get our ships into the dome _first_.”

“Well we can’t get into the dome without _landing_ first,” said Lando. “Unless you think they would just open up for us if we asked politely.”

“The underground entrance is still the best option,” said Bo-Katan. 

“Only if it’s still _there_ ,” snapped Koska.

“It’s the most convenient way to manage what comes in and out of the city,” she insisted. “The Empire wouldn’t have gotten rid of it, if they found it.”

“Boss, they might have changed it.”

“Only _if_ they found it.”

“We absolutely can’t trip any alarms, not until we have visuals on the kids,” said Leia. “The tunnel-system is too risky.”

“The whole thing is too risky,” said Bo-Katan. 

“What if we just sent a scouting team?” asked Cara. “A couple Mandos could fly down alone. They’d be too small for the imps to pick them up on the sensors. And they could figure out if the Underground landing is a go or no-go.”

“That could work,” said Leia. “How long can you survive in the atmosphere with your helmets?” 

“Depends on where we launch from,” said Jhaci, the older Mandalorian in yellow. “If someone could drop us mid-atmosphere, we could get into the underground system fairly quickly, with some filtration to spare.”

“I’ll go,” said Bo-Katan. “I know the tunnels best—”

“You know the capitol tunnels best,” interrupted Koska. “You know they weren’t built uniformly.”

“We’ll all be flying blind, no matter what,” said Jhaci. “Might as well just take the first volunteers.”

“No.”

Everyone turned to Din. 

“Luke goes first,” he said. “Bo-Katan and I will fly him down. We want to be able to get in and out as fast as possible. He’ll be able to find the children the quickest.”

They decided to take only two ships, the Falcon and a freighter that a two sisters, Breegit and Abis, had offered, and only seven volunteers. Paz cheerfully boarded the Falcon, along with Punx, a very young Mandalorian from one Mandalore’s settlements, and Bo-Katan. The sisters took Koska and Jhaci. 

“Park in the moon’s orbit, first,” Jhaci told Lando. “Concordia doesn’t revolve, so if you approach from the dark side, it’s radiation will mask us from the sensors.”

“They won’t be looking for us,” said Lando. 

“Better safe than sorry.” 

“Let’s go kick some imp-ass,” said Cara. 

The air was still tense, as they sat through hyper-space, between Leia and Bo-Katan. Bo-Katan retreated to sit in the cockpit with Lando, and Leia bent over a series of old maps in the back, muttering to herself. Paz sat on the bench next to her, evidently taking great amusement in her intensity, and Cara tried to nap on the table. Punx cleaned and re-cleaned his visor, ignoring Paz’s occasional jabs at his bare face. 

Din sat next to Luke on the ground, legs crossed, fiddling with the silver-ball Grogu had gifted him before he left. 

“Is he really a Jedi?” 

Punx’s question burst the small peace in the hold and startled a lightly snoring Cara, who squinted up at him menacingly. 

Din glanced over at Luke who was hunched against the wall, one leg bent, arms crossed, face almost completely darkened by his hood. 

“Are you asking _me_?” said Din, frowning. 

Punx’s eyes darted back and forth between Din and the all-black figure to his left. Din smiled underneath his helmet. 

“I am.” Luke’s voice floated out from under his hood, blank and serene, making duck his head and Din smile wider. 

“Oh,” said Punx. Then, evidently shaking off his intimidation, he asked Luke, “Are you a sorcerer?”

Din bit down on a laugh and leaned back against the wall, stretching out his legs and sliding completely down until his head rested on his jet-pack. He put one ankle over the other, folded his hands over his stomach, and closed his eyes, focusing on the heat of Luke’s body next to his and the echo of his voice in the ship. 

“No,” said Luke calmly. “Jedi aren’t sorcerers.”

“I thought you could do magic and stuff,” pushed Punx. 

“Ugh,” groaned Cara. “Leave the poor war-hero alone. Let me sleep.”

“War hero? What war?" asked Punx.

Cara groaned again and her voice came out muffled as she said, “Y’all really don’t know shit about fuck, do you.”

Din couldn’t help it, at this point. He chuckled. Then he said, just because he knew it would make Luke uncomfortable, “Luke saved the galaxy, kid. He defeated the Emperor.”

Luke’s hand slipped under Din’s helmet and poked him hard in the neck. Din laughed again and shoved him, turning his head to see Luke’s twitch of a smile. 

“What—wow, really?” Punx stuttered. 

“Yes, really,” snapped Leia, furiously typing something in her handheld computer. 

“Relax, Princess,” mumbled Cara, eye closed and cheek smushed against her elbow. “You’ll give yourself worry lines.”

“That’s pretty wild,” continued Punx. “I thought the Jedi were gone. But I guess everyone sort of thinks the Mandalorians are gone, too. Now the Mand’alor is friends with a Jedi?” He whistled. “Pretty cool.”

Din looked up at Luke, who had retreated back into his hood. He wanted to say, _No, he’s more than that. We’re more than that. We’re not friends, we’re Clan._

But he didn’t. 

Luke and Leia stood together, hands on the consul, eyes closed, as Lando guided the Falcon through Mandalore’s atmosphere.

“Did you know they could do this?” asked Din. 

“Oh, yeah,” said Lando genially. “When they get that twin-telemetry going, they could probably birth a star or something.”

“Somehow that seems less far-fetched than this,” said Din, gesturing to the window. 

“What, you never seen them do their little Jedi mind-tricks on anyone?”

Lando passed a hand delicately in front of him and said, mimicking Luke’s blank tone, “We are not here to liberate your prisoners.” Then he grinned, pleased with himself, and asked, “You know, like that?”

Din had seen Luke convince Nika once that she didn’t _actually_ want try starting a fire by herself in the kitchen. “Maybe?” he said. 

“Same thing,” said Lando. “Just much bigger.” 

“If you don’t mind,” ground out Luke, eyes squeezed shut. “We’re trying to focus.”

“Well stop,” said Bo-Katan pushing into the cockpit, a cord slung over her shoulder. “We made it through. Let’s go.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” said Leia for the third time, as Bo-Katan and Din hooked their arms around Luke’s waist. Luke did his best not to press against Din more than he had to. 

“Thanks for that,” said Luke, tightening his space-mask. “I was going to do something stupid, but now I won’t.”

Before she could flick him, Din pinched his side. 

“What,” hissed Luke. 

“Listen to her,” he said. 

“Thank you, Din.” said Leia. 

Cara tugged Leia back as the ramp began to open. 

“Don’t shut me off!” Leia managed to shout with a filter over her face. “I’m in your mind, kid!”

“See you in a minute, Leia,” he saluted. 

The ramp fell open completely and they were falling into the air.

Bo-Katan and Din just let them fall for a several long moments. As they descended Luke was almost overwhelmed with poisonous sensations scattering across his consciousness. The air was hurt, _injured_ , and it raged in the Force like a rancor. It longed to rage for a long time yet. 

“Hang on!” shouted Din. There was a lurch as he and Bo-Katan ignited their packs and then they were flying. 

Luke could see the dome below them, small and dark against the brown desert. 

Bo-Katan guided them past the dome, pointing with her free arm to a hazy blue edge in the landscape. “The canyon!” 

Luke briefly passed his impression of the landscape into Din’s mind and soon they were diving into a crevasse echoing with sulphuric wind. They dropped quickly into a tunnel, Din and Bo-Katan releasing him as they switched off their packs. He landed lightly and his first touch on the ground kindled the planet’s Force. 

Pushing aside the deep anguish of its history, he narrowed his focus on the tunnel he was in. They stood at a fork, but a few hundred feet to the right there was a set of stairs leading to a hanger and a series of paths leading up into the city. As far as he could tell, the hangers and the paths were empty. 

“Which way?” asked Din, pulling out a blaster. Bo-Katan did the same and flicked on a light on her vambrace, as well. 

Luke pointed, muted by his mask, and started walking. The ground was so brittle, he could feel it turn to sand with every step. He kept a watch on Din, who walked behind him, tracking his every breath. The whole world was eerie, like a graveyard, and Luke hated the thought of Din trying to make a life here, under the poisonous clouds and crumbling earth. 

After a couple minutes of walking, a blue glow illuminated the tunnel and Bo-Katan turned her light off. An atmosphere force-field knitted between the space of a large crack in the wall, behind which lay a staircase. Luke pushed through and held out hand to keep Din and Bo-Katan back while he surveyed the hallway. Then he gestured them through. 

“I can’t sense anyone here,” said Luke, removing his mask and hooking it onto his belt. “Either they’ve set a trap or they never found this entrance.”

They made their way down the stairs and onto a platform hanging over a landing-bay. The shelves on the walls, the comm stations, and the railing were all covered in a thick layers of grimy dust. They found the same as they walked down the halls and climbed up the ramps leading under the dome. When they reached a blast-door, the whole of it was covered in dirt, old fingerprints swallowed up and the touch-pad barely visible. Din ran a finger down the consul and the doors opened into a dark basement. 

“I think we’ve found our way in,” said Bo-Katan. 

As they waited for the ships to arrive, Din could tell something was scratching at Luke. He paced back and forth, hood tossed back, scowling at the ground. 

Then suddenly he turned on his heel and grabbed Din by the elbow, guiding him into the hall and out of ear shot of Bo-Katan. 

“Everything ok?” asked Din. Luke’s face was grim and pale as it lay against his black cloak. 

“I want you to know,” said Luke. “That whatever you decide to do next, you have a place with me. I want you to know that.”

“Luke,” breathed Din, his ribs shrieking to grow past his skin and wrap Luke into his flesh. 

“That’s it, ok?” said Luke. “That’s all there is, at the core of it. You have a place with me.”

Before Din could say any of the hundred things he wanted to, the sound of a ship rang through the walls, and Luke had pulled his hood back over his head and raced back to the landing bay. Din followed, fists clenched and counting in Mando’a to try to push everything back down. 

Leia was twisting her long braid into a bun as she walked down the ramp, at least four blasters, plus her lightsaber, hanging off her body. Lando had shed his cape and grinned at Jhaci when she tossed him a flame-thrower. 

“What a nice place you got here,” said Cara, casting her eyes over the old dusty hanger. “Really homey.”

“Let’s focus, please,” said Leia. “Is everyone good on the plan?”

“Mister Dark and Mysterious over there is taking point,” said Jhaci, nodding to Luke. “Djarin with him. When they give the all-clear, we’re in stealth mode. Get the children and get out.”

“Are we doing a buddy system?” asked Punx. 

“I volunteer to not be Punx’s buddy,” said Breegit as she put on her helmet. 

“Just stick to someone,” said Leia. “I don’t care who. Now,” she put her hands on her hips and said, “Are we ready?”

“Are you?” asked Bo-Katan. 

Leia huffed and said, “Always.” Then, “May the Force be with you.”

“Whatever,” said Koska. 

Luke cut through the blast-doors, opening them into a dark corridor, lit only with the green-glow of his lightsaber. They followed the hall and then up a flight of stairs and into a small abandoned room with a dusty desk and a door leading out onto an empty street. Peeking out, Din could see a large complex, several stories high, obviously empire-make. It spilled onto the old road, sitting squarely on top of the old villages infratructure, stretching from one end of the dome to the other. It looked as if a freighter had just dropped the building onto the village, fully made.

Luke closed his eyes, blank expression stealing across his features. After a moment, he opened them again and said, “They’re underground.”

They followed the shadows across the street and up to the side of the building. A patrol of droid-troopers emerged from another pair of two-story doors and marched south. Luke and Din slipped in just as they were closing. 

The hall they walked into was bright and clean. It reminded Din immediately of the prison ship he had invaded—nowhere to hide. 

“This way,” said Luke. 

They snuck past several large doors, heels clicking on the tile, and as they walked, a hum of voices grew louder. They rounded a corner ten or so feet down, an archway opened onto what looked like a large conference room, guarded by droid-troopers, filled with imperials. 

Din quickly ducked into the elevator on his right, Luke following. 

“Fuck,” said Din, once the elevator closed and started moving. “How many was that?”

“Not sure,” said Luke, biting his lip. “They were officers, though. I only saw officers.”

"I guess that's what the kids are for," said Din. "They need more blaster-fodder."

The lift doors slid open on a battle-droid.

Before Din could even think, before the battle-droid could respond to the intruders, Luke had reached into the air and crushed it.

“I can’t tell if that was covert, or not,” said Din quietly, stepping neatly over it. 

Luke rolled his eyes, then peeled off a panel on the wall with the Force and floated the droid into the opening. 

“There,” he said. “Covert.”

When they turned the corner, they emerged into a barracks, packed tight with bunks, and the frightened faces of seventy children. 

“Uh,” said Din. “Hi.”

They were all dressed in imperial uniforms, hair buzzed short, eyes gaunt and wary. 

“Who are you?” a brave one asked, hopping down from her bunk with a thump. 

“Din Djarin,” said Din. “Is there another way out of here?”

“There’s no way out of here,” said another. “What are you wearing?”

“Are you a General?"

“What happened to the other battle-droid?”

“ _Other_ battle droid?” asked Din. 

“ _Intruder_ ,” a mechanical voice echoed. On the other side of the room, a battle-droid was pointing at Din and Luke, a red light flashing on its head. Before it could shout again, Din shot it in the head. 

“Oh,” said the first girl. Then, “Are you here to rescue us?”

“We’re here to try,” said Din. “Now, is there another way out of this building?”

“Do you mean like a back entrance?” someone called.

“Yes.”

“There’s the emergency staircase,” said someone else, pointed to a door on the opposite wall. “It goes to the street.”

“It’s guarded by more battle-droids, though.” 

Din looked at Luke, who shrugged and started weaving his way through the bunks. 

“What’s he doing?” whispered a very small child to Din’s left. 

Luke opened the door and walked out. In several heartbeats, he came back in and said, “All clear.”

They corralled the children onto the stair-well, waiting for Leia’s signal. When a minute had passed, Luke nodded and Din pushed open the blast-doors. 

“Took you long enough,” Leia said, standing amidst the crushed and broken bodies of a group of battle-droids. “Cara and Punx are at the underground entrance. Streets are clear for now.”

“Take a few children at a time,” said Din. “We don’t want them all out in the open at once. When you get to the doors, send Cara and Punx back here—Bo-Katan, too—and get the children onto the ships.” 

Leia nodded.

“Come on, kiddos,” she said, holding a hand to a girl with purple hair and quivering bottom lip. “Let’s get you home, okay?”

“Pretty,” whispered another girl, gaping up at Leia. 

Din stepped aside so fifteen or so children could squeeze past him, following after Leia, with Koska and Bo-Katan in the rear. Din’s heartbeat was so loud in his chest, he could barely hear their feet scampering on the pavement. 

Then, a wash of calm dripped down his mind, and his pulse stopped racing. 

He looked down at Luke, standing at the bottom of the stairs. 

_Kriff_ , thought Din. _I love you._

It took about five minutes for Cara, Punx, and Bo-Katan to arrive. 

“This place is a real piece of bantha-shit,” said Cara softly. She grinned down at the kids. “Who wants to get the fuck out of here?”

“I kriffin do,” hissed a boy with a bruise over his right eye. 

“Language,” said Din. 

Cara flipped him off as they slipped up the dark street. 

“Mister Din Djarin,” whispered a girl with a very solemn face. “Why are you so shiny?”

Seven minutes later, Leia returned with Koska and Bo-Katan. 

“Halfway there, right?” she asked, peering into the stair-well. 

Before Din could answer, an alarm went off. The children immediately realized what it meant and several of them burst into tears. 

“Go!” shouted Luke, igniting his lightsaber. “Run!”

“Fuck,” said Leia, pulling out a blaster as two battle-droids rounded the corner. 

“Take the kids!” shouted Din. Koska swooped down and grabbed a tiny boy who was sobbing into his hands, and took off. 

“Don’t look back,” said Din as Leia urged the frantic kids after her. Bo-Katan flew into the air above them, blasters ready. Just as the last child ran out the door, a Dark Trooper bust the barracks door open. 

Luke spun around and chopped it half. Then he disappeared back into the building. 

With no time to be afraid for him, Din raced after the children. Battle-droids emerged from the windows above the street, with their own jet-packs. Koska and Bo-Katan met them in a clash, ripping them apart with their brace wires and blocking the blasters with their armor. 

Leia stood, yellow lightsaber in one hand and blaster in the other, shooting and blocking, while the children funneled into the squat building disguising the underground escape. 

A group of droids abruptly dropped into the crowd, cutting off a small group from the rest, blasters raised. The children screamed and fell back, tripping on the road. Din shot them down, but more appeared as he raced forward. 

He blocked them from advancing with his flame-thrower and then blasted their heads, one by one. 

“Mister Din!” screeched someone behind him. He whipped around to see three Dark Troopers advancing on the children. 

With their screams ringing in his ears, Din pulled out his spear and lit his dark-saber. 

The world faded away. The only thing he knew was the fight. 

Luke stormed his way through the squadron of Dark Troopers and ran through the barracks. The lift locked as he slid in front of it, so he reached out with the Force and hauled the doors apart. He crouched on its floor and pulled, causing the elevator to shoot up to the first floor. He carved his way out, stepping into the midst of at least twenty more battle droids. 

He held out a hand, and they all slammed back down the hall, falling to pieces in mid-air with the strength of his thrust. 

“Well,” said a smooth lilting voice. 

Luke turned. A Moff stood in the hallway, two Officer Stormtroopers behind him, and a man in red robes and electric-spear by his side. 

“We were warned about you,” said the man. “But you don’t seem very impressive to me.”

“Where are the others,” said Luke. 

“Other what?” asked the man placidly. 

Luke made to raise his hand but the red-robed man stepped in front of the Moff, holding his spear aloft. 

“You’re not the only one who can wield the Force, Jedi.”

The red-robed man thrust out his palm and Luke felt a light brush of influence in the Force, a ripple in its waters. 

With a wave of his arm, Luke threw the force-user and the Stormtroopers against the wall, knocking them out cold. Then he raised his hand and force-picked up the Moff, holding him up with the barest of pressure on his throat. 

“I said,” said Luke evenly. “Where are the others?”

Din’s lungs burned as he fought. The Troopers were just as merciless as he remembered, marching forward with their blasters and wires even with Din’s saber sticking through their breast-plate. Two more flew down as Din dispatched the first, but Din didn’t have the ability to despair or hope or think. He knew the children were cowering behind him, racing for cover as the Troopers moved to surround them. And that was all he needed to know. 

He blocked a stun-blast with the saber, cut a wire loop trying to encircle a child with his spear, and leaped onto the droid, cutting its neck before he could be thrown off. Another child whimpered, and Din had his saber through the droid’s arm in under a second, his spear under its chin another. 

Finally, the last Trooper fell, made two halves with the dark-saber, and Din could breathe. 

“Run,” he gasped. And they did, Leia, finishing off a battle-droid, coming out to meet them. 

“Where’s Luke?” she shouted as Din ran behind the kids. Koska and Bo-Katan flew threw the door, after the last one slipped through. 

Leia and Din stopped at the entrance and turned just in time to see the giant imperial complex start to fall. 

Luke tossed the unconscious Moff to the floor just as two more red-robed men filed into the hall. Behind them, Stormtroopers, Dark Troopers, and battle-droids stood guard over the enraged Officers, emerging from the conference hall. 

The red-robed men reached up and force-pulled on a pipe above Luke’s head. Luke flicked it aside and stowed his lightsaber. Then he lifted his arms, expanded his mind, let the Force flow through him, and yanked down. The ceiling fell, crushing the imperials where they stood, and the rest of the building fell with it. 

Luke raced back the way he’d come, flinging debris out of the way and leaping over pipes, pillars and walls. He thrust with his hand and the metal doors bent open just as he leaped. He rolled in the air and landed on the street in a crouch, coughing out the dust from the collapsing concrete. 

“Luke!” shouted Din, his fear cutting through Luke’s mind, warning him to turn. But just as he twisted, saber-raised, a beskar-spear sailed past his head and embedded itself in the attacking Dark Troopers neck. 

Leia led the way as they raced down the hall to the underground hanger. 

“Why the kriff did you do that?” she shouted as they ran. The ground was crumbling around them, quaking with every step they took. 

“I don’t know!” Luke shouted back. 

They slid onto the walkway hanging high over the landing bay and Leia and Luke leaped over the railing without thinking, Din following in a graceful arc with his jetpack. 

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” yelled Cara from the Falcon. Leia darted up the ramp, Luke and Din on her heels. The domed ceiling cracked and the rock started to dissolve immediately into sand. 

“Go!” shouted Leia to the cockpit and in seconds the _Falcon_ was racing back up the imploding canyon. They cleared the ground and shot into the sky, just as the domed village below sunk into the earth. 

“I gotta say, guys,” said Cara breathlessly, as the ship dived into the starry sky. “That wasn’t as covert as I thought it was going to be.”

Luke pushed back his hood and looked around at the hold, packed with children, all looking on the verge of passing out. 

Leia straightened up from where she had bent over to catch her breath and then picked up a cup and threw it hard at Luke. 

“What was _that_?” she yelled. 

“There are children present,” said Din mildly. 

“How did the whole fucking building explode?” 

“I wanted to send a message,” said Luke, rubbing his forehead where the cup had made contact. “I really only meant to tear down the building. Didn’t realize I could make the whole foundation of the village, you know…”

“Go splat?” offered a girl sitting on the table, watching the exchange with interest. 

“Yeah,” said Luke. 

“I hope Obi-Wan spends the next five _years_ yelling at you in your sleep,” said Leia. 

Din leaned his helmet against the back of Luke’s shoulder and giggled through a pure and sacred relief.

After they had passed out juice and snacks and whatever piece of clothing they could conceivably use as a blanket, the general atmosphere among their smaller passengers settled. Cara lay spread out under the table, letting a few children use her legs and arms as pillows. Leia had taken over in the cock-pit so Lando could sit with some of the more anxious ones and wrap them up in his cape. Punx had taken the liberty of setting up a large game of cards in the middle of the floor, that distracted the older ones even if they didn’t want to play. 

Din sat in the corner, entertaining the younger ones, and fighting through the post-adrenaline and post-terror chills wrapping around his limbs. 

Luke came and sat down next to him, after having a long talk with Leia, force-lifting one of the slumbering toddlers leaning against Din’s hip so he could drop into the space himself. 

Din watched the sleeping kid turned over in mid-air, unbothered, as Luke gently lowered him onto the floor at his side. 

“What does that feel like?” asked Din softly. “Being picked up by the Force?”

Luke lolled his head against the bulkhead and closed his eyes. A couple kids had commandeered his cloak, leaving his face open for Din’s scrutiny.

“I’m not sure,” said Luke. “No one’s ever picked me up with the Force.”

“What about when you jump?” 

“Oh,” considered Luke. “It’s like swimming—like the air is thicker. Also thinner. So like a cloud?”

“That’s so interesting,” said Din, letting his own head fall back. “You’re so wise.”

“Ask the kids,” said Luke, smiling. “They’ll know.”

They sat together as the low rumble of conversation slowed down in the ship and everyone started to sink into sleep. 

“Are you okay?” asked Luke, just above a whisper. “You’re shaking.”

Din shut his eyes against the images and sounds of screaming children and droids descending from the sky and the small of burnt metal and blaster charges and terrified sweat—

“I’m fine,” said Din, gripping his terror with a fist and holding it under the water. 

“Din,” whispered Luke, sliding his own gloved hand into Din’s. 

“I didn’t want you to go first,” said Din, the words slipping out of him like air. “But as soon as I said it, I knew, I knew if there was no else to help, I knew I would’ve asked you to go alone. And then the building collapsed while you were still in it. And a Dark Trooper had followed you and had a blaster aimed at your head. I don’t know what to feel. That I could be so — willing to ask you to do dangerous things. And also that I could be so mad when you do them.”

Luke pushed closer into Din’s side, making the edges of his vision go hazy. 

“And Mandalore is gone,” he said. “I knew it was a gone. But seeing it, that’s different.”

Luke took a breath, like he was preparing for something, and then said, “I could fix it.”

Din tipped his head towards him and whispered hoarsely, “What?”

Luke kept his eyes on the grimy overhead, saying, “I could push it in the right direction. With the Force. When we landed, I could feel it, sense its confusion. I could make it purge itself.”

“And by ‘it,’ you mean the entire planet,” said Din. 

“Yup,” said Luke. 

Din examined his profile—the line of nose, the arch of his eyebrows, the soft flare of his lashes. 

“So what’s the catch,” asked Din, already suspecting the answer. 

“Well,” said Luke breezily. “You know how Grogu faints when he goes a little too far?”  
  
Din waited. 

“Something like that would happen to me,” said Luke. 

“Like _what._ ”

“I’d probably die.”

Din turned away from his beautiful face and responded, “Good to know.” He squeezed Luke’s hand as hard as he could, memorizing the touch, the pattern of his knuckles and fingers and wrists. “But it’s not worth it.”

“I’m worth more than a whole planet?” asked Luke. 

Din understood the test Luke was putting to him. He wasn’t going to fail. Amabe’s voice drifted back to him. _We could make them grow faster, but that would be disruptive, you know?_

“You’re worth more than an abandoned, uninhabitable rock,” corrected Din. 

“That’s nice,” said Luke, though his posture noticeably relaxed.

“You know,” Din couldn’t help himself now. He was too tired, too chilled, too much of everything. “Sometimes I can’t sleep because of this recurring dream I have, where I’m back on Aq Vetina. I’m in the hatch and I can’t see anything. It’s too dark. And something is slowly pounding on the door, trying to get in. Trying to kill me.”

He felt Luke’s attention on him, both with his eyes and with that sweet sparkle in the back of Din’s mind that he knew to be the Force. 

“But ever since you rescued us that day,” said Din, taking the dearest part of his heart and laying it in Luke’s hand. “I can just think of you. I think of you and the pounding stops. Even in the dark. I’m safe.”

Din tried to meet Luke’s eyes but he had tipped his head back again, eyelids shut and lips pressed firmly together. So Din with his free hand carefully reached up and pulled off his helmet and placed it in Luke’s lap. 

Then Luke faced him, expression so full of wonder and love and light that a knife, long buried in Din’s stomach, fell out, and out poured his blood, his love. 

“Din,” Luke whispered, fingers coming up to wipe away the silent tears on Din’s cheeks. Din put his nose under the corner of Luke’s jaw and Luke wrapped one arm around his shoulders and brought the other to stroke down Din’s face and neck. Din blocked off everything but the sound of Luke’s pulse and the smell of his skin, warm and real.

Luke turned his face into Din’s hair and asked, “What else am I for?”

They took the kids to Chandrila. 

Mon Mothma met them at the landing pad and guided the kids herself into the Senate’s refugee center, listening intently as a young girl tearfully explained what her parents looked like and where she lived. Leia and Cara trailed after, Leia looking glorious in her white robes, covered in dust and Cara carrying two kids in her arms who had already passed out from the heavy emotional toll of the day. Luke touched Din’s arm briefly and followed with Lando. 

A couple Republic officers led the Mandalorians (except for Breegit and Abis, who wanted to stay with their ship) into a conference room: a small holo-projector sat in the middle of a circle of cushioned chairs and a long window looked out over the New Senate chambers. 

“The Chancellor will be with you shortly,” said the officer with a polite nod. 

Punx immediately dropped into one of the chairs and swung his legs up onto the one next to him. Paz and Jhaci followed his lead while Bo-Katan and Koska looked out over the chamber, frowning at the glass. 

“Think they’ll offer to help?” asked Koska. 

“It’s anyone’s guess,” said Bo-Katan. 

Then she regarded Din, with a raised eyebrow, and added, “Maybe if our King speaks for us.”

“I’m not your King,” he said. 

“You trained with the dark-saber,” she said. “I saw you, today. Fighting. You’ve been training with the Jedi. You intend to keep it.”

Din said nothing. 

“You’ll keep the dark-saber,” she said, like a question. “But you won’t fight for Mandalore.”

“I won’t fight for Mandalore,” he agreed. 

She laughed humorlessly and leaned back against the window, crossing her arms. 

Din thought of Grogu, then, wearing the mudhorn symbol, and the Armorer making a home of Nevarro. He thought of Amabe, leaning against his shoulder in the snow, learning the ways of the Jedi but refusing to fight. He thought of Migs shooting the imperial officer across the table and of the bounty-hunter droid turned nursemaid. 

Then he removed his helmet. 

Bo-Katan stared.

“There’s nothing left of Mandalore,” he said. “There’s nothing to take back.”

Tears sprang to her eyes but didn’t fall. “Some of us have faith.”

“Mandalorian isn’t a race,” he said. “It’s a Creed.”

She was silent. 

“There’s a whole galaxy out there,” he said. “We could do some good.”

Mon Mothma slowly rubbed her right temple, graceful even as she stared Luke down. 

“A new order of Sith lords,” she repeated. “When _we_ don’t have a Jedi Order.”

“That doesn’t mean we’re unbalanced,” said Luke. “They’re not strong. They don’t even wield lightsabers. Whoever they’re learning from doesn’t know the Force.”

“Also,” said Leia. “ _We_ have the Mandalorians.”

“Breegit’s giving me a ride back home,” said Cara as they looked out over the Republic’s capitol city. “Don’t suppose you’d want to come with us?”

“I’ve got other places to be,” said Din. 

“I’ll bet you do,” laughed Cara. 

“What.”

“Nothing,” she said. “Just bring him next time you visit. So I can give him a proper shovel talk.”

Din whacked the back of her head. 

“I’m just impressed, Din,” she persisted, giggling. “Remember Omera? I remember Omera. Girl wanted you bad. Wouldn’t even look at me, she wanted you so bad. And you were stone-cold.”

“Is there a point to this.”

“I mean you go away for almost a year and come back with Luke fucking Skywalker?” she said. “You should’ve seen him, standing behind you, all dark and scary.”

“Jhaci is really pretty, isn’t she.”

Cara punched him. 

“Don’t cry when I’m gone, Mister King,” she said. “It’d just break my heart.”

Luke told Lando he could fly them back home causing Lando to scoop him into a hug and then promptly collapse on the bench. 

Din and Leia sat with him in the cockpit on the journey, playing a fun game called: Luke Once Did This Stupid Thing, Can You Believe It?

“We don’t have winters on Tatooine,” said Luke. “How would I have known?”

“Context clues,” said Din. 

“If someone tells you to do something ridiculous for no reason, like, for instance, lick a frozen cable, probably best to take a step back and ask yourself: why? what will this accomplish? what are the possible motives for asking me to do this?” said Leia. 

“Is this why it took you three years to admit you liked Han?” asked Luke. “Would he flirt with you and you would step back and ask yourself: what will this accomplish?”

“Yes, actually,” said Leia, tipping her nose into the air. “And it worked. Now I have a husband.”

“That’s inspiring,” said Din. 

Leia winked. 

Arriving home was an exercise in self-control. All Luke really wanted to do was put his head in Din's lap and sleep, and only the joy of seeing his younglings again could pull him from that impulse. Nika and Zala almost made him cry as they ran and jumped into his arms. Their smell and weight and presence kicked Luke in the chest and he had to just stand and let the wave wash over him before he could go back to being a person. 

When he tossed the kids over to Leia, Amabe sidled up to him with a grin and said, “You stink,” and then laughed as he hugged her.

To his left, Grogu was lighting up the Force as Din held him in the crook of his elbow, whispering gentle reassurances. Then Han ruffled Luke's hair and looked over Amabe, Nika, and Zala hanging off Din's free arm and poking at his helmet and knees. He said to Luke with a matter-of-fact smile, “You should be proud of them.”

With that remark, falling on Luke's tired mind like a rock in a river, Luke had skip out of the welcoming early, shouting an excuse about using the fresher and then weaving his way through the forest path, heart racing. His lungs caught and he pressed his face to a tree and breathed. 

"Luke," echoed a voice.

"Anakin," said Luke, turning to see his father leaning against an ancient root, arms crossed, and a sincere color on his face.

"I know it's not my place," said Anakin. "But I wanted to tell you that I am pleased for you."

Luke did not have to ask what he was referring to.

"Is it a mistake?" he asked, quiet, voice cracking. He could hear the footsteps and the voices of the others drawing nearer and Anakin's eyes flickered nervously, probably sensing Leia among the happy crowd.

"Do not ask me," he replied. "I have no answer for you."

Luke swallowed, and then said, "There is no 'why.'"

Anakin was silent for a beat and then he threw his head back and laughed.

"You really are a Jedi master," he said. "You know how to speak in riddles."

Luke looked up at the sky, golden and blue and deep. "Not riddles," he murmured. "Everything is just so complicated. There is no 'why,' because it doesn't matter. It _isn't_ matter. We can only change what we can touch."

"Then it is _not_ a mistake," said Anakin, sturdy in this, in a way Luke had never heard him. "Your love for him. It will tether you if you let it, remind you of your body. Sometimes it is good to be nothing more than something to be touched. No tree grows in the void."

At his words, Luke recalled Din, kneeling in front of him and holding his hand, softly reminding Luke that _there are other things to feel._ Tears sprang to his eyes, but did not fall, and he twisted to face his father, who was beginning to fade as the others arrived in the courtyard.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Lunch was a loud and obnoxious affair, and the afternoon games on the grass were riotous enough to threaten Han's still healing leg. But whatever energy had been sustaining the girls vanished as twilight inched its way across the spring mist and they waved goodbye to Han, Leia, and Lando.

"It's fast," said Din, watching the _Millennium Falcon_ disappear beyond the clouds. "But it's kind of a garbage ship."

This had Luke laughing for the rest of the day, past dinner, and as he helped the children to bed.

That night, despite his own exhaustion, he hiked up to the Tree Temple, tilting his head into the breeze kindly drying his hair and decorating his skin with the smells he’d come to know as home. Spring was deep in the air, and the high trees shed delicate petals with every brush of the wind on their blooms, making the ground Luke walked on silky and sweet. 

Yoda sat on the cliff, the glittering moths landing unafraid on his bright, wrinkled head. In the Force, he was the color of distant stars. 

“There is no ‘why,’” said Yoda, in greeting, as Luke drew level to him. Luke, settling into some new future, some new reality, like settling into a warm bed, finally knew the correct reply _._

“Only ‘what,’” he said, gazing across the mystical dark world.

Yoda closed his eyes and smiled, satisfied and sweet.

“Here, I am,” he said, looking up at Luke, earnest. “And always will be. Forget it, you should not." Then he nodded and put his eyes on the stars. "Your paths, together, will shape the galaxy.”

Before Luke could make a proper reply, past the emotion in his throat, Yoda continued. “Thank you, my padawan. Last and Dearest.” Then he faded into the night.

Luke, reeling, then felt Din arrive like a glove sliding into place.

Din’s curls were wild and clean as they tossed in the wind. He glowed under the starlight, beautiful and safe. Against the shimmering navy sky, his face seemed blessed, every line and shade, from his lips to his eyelashes, a gift from something beyond—some unnameable force, some unnameable magic, like binary suns and green vines and trees taller than mountains. 

“I love you,” said Din, as simple as he said anything. 

Luke kissed him. 

Din’s hands found Luke’s jaw and Luke gripped Din’s waist. Luke angled all his focus onto Din’s bottom lip, pressing it between his own, pulling, and kissing again. He opened his mouth and Din’s sweet tongue wet Luke’s lips and Luke twisted and pushed until Din’s back hit the soft trunk of the sacred tree and Luke’s tongue hit the back of Din’s throat. Din gasped, sliding his hands into Luke’s hair while he sucked kiss after kiss on Din’s mouth. 

He smiled and Luke kissed his teeth and then his jaw and then his glorious neck. The touch, the physical heat, sat on his sense like a singularity. 

“Luke,” said Din, stroking the back of Luke’s neck, his ears, his scalp. 

Luke kissed him, tilting his head to feel the full press of his pink mouth. 

“I love you, too,” said Luke, pulling away to breathe, their lips still brushing. Only then did he realize he was crying, chest hitching. 

“Luke,” said Din again, kissing Luke’s ear and nose and letting Luke wipe his tears shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere,” said Din. “This is it. This is all there is.”

Luke lifted his head and put his lips on the underside of Din’s chin, then over his chest. 

Din laughed and grabbed Luke by the waist, lifting him up and then falling with him to the soft grass. Knees on either side of Luke’s torso, Din took Luke’s hands in his and gently laid them on the petals and moss above his head. When he bent to kiss him again, lips parted and waiting, the smell of the soil and the candied spring flowers rose up to meet him, compelling Din to press the flat of his tongue to Luke’s upper lip and taste. 

Luke sighed, almost a moan, and caught Din’s tongue with his teeth, nipping lightly, as Din’s mouth swallowed his breath. They kissed, and kissed, and kissed. 

“You,” gasped Luke. “You’re so bright.”

Din’s fingers delicately traced Luke’s jaw and he said, nudging their noses together, “You’re my Way.”

Din awoke with Grogu’s fingers up his nose and Luke pressed up against his back. 

“Don’t you have your own room, now?” asked Din, carefully sliding Grogu’s claws from his nostrils. 

“You asked me to stay,” said Luke, half-asleep and indignant, face mashed into the top of DIn’s spine. 

“Wasn’t talking to you,” said Din. “Grogu is here.”

Grogu cooed at Luke who said, “Morning, Grogu.”

“Did we sleep in?” asked Din, frowning at the sunlight, higher than it normally was when he woke up. 

Grogu snuck under Din’s arm and curled up, eyes falling closed. 

Luke just hummed in response, squeezing Din’s middle and shuffling closer, his arm strong on his ribs, his hand resting over Din’s heart. 

The sun blew in, turning the room pink and golden, tenderly warming his vision. Leaning back into Luke’s chest, Din felt as if he had invented love itself. 

Everything was light. 


End file.
